LIBRARY 


13T>T-\7r<T^Tri-\T      A7       T 


BR  1720  .A9  B34  1859  copy  2 
Baillie,  John,  1816-1890. 
St.  Augustine 


ST.  AUaUSTI]^E 


^  §i0girai3ju.cil  Pitm0ir. 


BY  / 

THE  REV.   JOHN^AILLTE, 

GONV.  AND  CAirS  COLL.,  CAMBRIDGE; 

LiridOR  OF  THE   "life   op    ADELAIDE    L.    NEWTON,"  "MEMOIRS 
OF    ilEWITSON,"  "life   STUDIES,"  ETC, 


"  Xo  Doctor  in  tli     Church,  after  the  Sacred  Scriptures,  is  to  bo 
compared  to  Augustiue.'' — Martin  Luther. 


NEW   YORK: 
ROBERT    CARTER   &    BROTHERS, 

:No.  530    BROADWAY. 

1859. 


EDWARD   0.   JENKINS, 

Jpriitter  &  .Sterfotsper, 
No.  2G  Fkankfokt  Strebt. 


TO  f 

THE   HON.    AND    REV. 

SAMUEL    WALDEGRAVE,    M.  A., 

Hector  of  Barford  St.  Martin,  anil  Canon  of  Salisbury. 


My  Dear  Sir.— The  illustrious  Church-father  whose  life  is 
recorded  in  these  pages,  is  not  a  stranger  to  you.  In  your 
Bampton  Lectures,  delivered  some  years  ago  before  the  Uni- 
versity of  Oxford,  you  worthily  vindicated  those  great  doc- 
trines of  grace  in  which  St.  Augustine  gloried,  and  of  which 
his  personal  life  was  so  vivid  a  pattern.  And  I  therefore 
inscribe  thie  volume  to  you,  assured  that  whatever  abases 
the  worm  in  the  dust,  and  exalts  and  glorifies  the  God  of 
grace,  will  meet  from  you  a  cordial  welcome.  Augustine 
was  not  perfect;  but  he  was  a  "  true  man  '" — a  meek  and 
humble  follower  of  the  Lamb, — and,  above  all,  he  was  a  pas- 
tor who  yearned  over  souls  with  a  compassion  which  I  know 
you  feel  to  be  the  greatest  of  all  wants  in  the  ministry  of 
our  day.  It  is  in  the  humble  hope  that  God  may  use  this 
book  to  quicken  into  new  energy  and  devotedness  some 
earnest  souls,  that  I  have  sought  to  popularise  the  great 
preacher's  life,  and  now  send  it  forth  on  its  errand. 

Believe  me, 

Tour  faithful  Brother  in  our  one  Lord, 

THE   AUTHOR, 
(iii) 


Pectus  est  quod  tlieologum  facit." 

Neander. 


(iv) 


PREFACE 


The  Author  lias  a  few  words  to  say  to  his 
readers  as  to  what  they  are  to  look  for  and 
what  they  are  not  to  look  for  in  this  Memoir. 

Some  two  years  ago,  his  attention  was  called 
to  the  fact  that  no  attempt  had  yet  been  made 
— at  least  in  this  country — either  to  exhibit 
the  great  Church-father  in  his  daily  outer  and 
inner  life,  or  to  estimate  the  extraordinary 
influence  which  his  voluminous  writings 
exercised,  for  so  many  centuries,  upon  the 
Church  of  Christ.  And  lie  was  asked  to 
make  an  effort  to  supply  this  want. 

After  a  careful  study  of  the  subject  he  was 
impressed  with  the  conviction  that  the  first 
thing  to  be  done  was  to  gather  together  into  a 
single  portraiture  the  various  features  of  the 

1*  [5] 


6  PREFACE. 

MAN,  as  these  were  to  be  found  scattered  up 
and  down  dififerent  books  and  documents,  and 
also  were  to  be  detected  in  his  Letters,  and 
especially  in  his  well-known  Confessions. 

It  has  been  God's  uniform  method,  in  effect- 
ing any  great  revival  in  His  Church,  to  pre- 
pare the  human  instrument  by  a  protracted 
process  of  discipline.  In  the  desert  of  Horeb, 
the  future  chief  of  Israel  was  trained  for  forty 
years.  In  the  lonely  nights  with  his  "few 
sheep,"  the  slayer  of  Goliath  had  proved, 
against  "the  lion  and  the  bear,"  the  virtue  of  the 
Divine  panoply.  He  who  enquired,  "Lord! 
what  wouldst  thou  have  me  to  c/oF"  was  shewn 
"how  great  things  he  must  suffer.''''  In  a  later 
age,  the  man  who  gave  to  Europe  a  revived 
theology  and  a  restored  Church,  lived  out  the 
heavenly  life  in  the  cell  at  Erfarth  and  in  the 
chamber  at  Coburg  and  in  the  lowly  home  at 
A¥ittemberg.  And,  if  ever  it  might  be  said 
of  a  man  that  the  central  point  of  his  system 
of  faith  had  previously  been  elaborated  as  the 
central  point  of  his  pergonal  life,  tliat  man  was 
St.  Augustine. 

It  is  this  great  fact  which  gives  to  the  strug- 


PREFACE.  7 

gles  and  the  victories  of  liis  hidden  life  an 
interest  and  a  value  so  transcendant.  Like 
the  author  of  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  he  first 
lived  the  Christian  doctrine — then  taught  it. 
"The  life,"  he  used  to  say,  ''  must  precede  the 
conception  ;  the  latter  can  only  come  out  of 
the  former." 

This,  too,  invested  with  such  authority  the 
teachings  of  this  great  Church-father.  It  was 
not  a  poor,  shrivelled,  lifeless  theology  which 
he  taught,  but  "  the  things  which  he  had  seen 
and  heard."  And  he  had  heard  them,  not  at 
the  lips  of  human  teachers,  but  at  the  feet  of 
the  life-giving  Saviour.  He  knew  what  it  was 
to  sit  there  as  a  guilty  and  helpless  yet  freely 
forgiven  sinner ;  and  so  (as  Neander  justly 
observes)  all  that  Christ  taught  him  was 
regarded  as  infallible  truth,  which  required  no 
other  confirmation. 

Augustine  was  not  a  monk,  though  he  lived 
in  a  monkish  age.  He  was  a  warm-hearted, 
loving,  genial  man, — turning  his  own  wheel 
and  the  Avheels  of  others  with  energy, 

"  Guiding  souls  to  God,  and  multiplying  himself  for 
heaven." 


8  PREFACE. 

Hence  it  comes  to  pass  that  the  good  in  all  ages 
have  instinctively  drawn  to  him.  And  hence 
it  is  so  desirable  that  a  simple  photograph  of 
him  should  be  placed  within  the  reach  of  all. 
Such  is  the  distinctive  and  specific  aim  of  this 
volume;  and  the  Author  will  feel  amply 
compensated  for  his  labour  in  preparing  it,  if 
it  stir  in  any  bosoms — especially  among  his 
brethren  in  the  ministry — an  intenser  longing 
after  holiness  and  a  tenderer  yearning  over 
souls. 

A  recent  commentator*  on  his  writings  has 
caught,  with  his  wonted  sagacity,  Augustine's 
leading  characteristic — an  unquenched  and 
unquenchable  thirst  for  the  Word.  This  was 
his  safeguard  in  his  own  dajk  age ;  and  this  it 
is  which  surrounds  with  such  freshness  and 
such  lifelikcness  all  his  words  still.  If  at 
times  his  noble  mien  wear  some  traces  of  the 
cntrmmgcf  of  his  age,  they  are  the  spots  in  the 
bright  luminary,  not  the  luminary  itself  The 
light  ill  which  he  lived  shone  too  direct  from 

'^'  Dean  Trench. 

f  What  the  Americans,  more  expressively  than  elegantly, 
call  "surroundings." 


PREFACE.  9 

above  to  leave  him  tlie  victim  of  superstitious 
mummeries  such  as  claim  oftentimes  the  pro- 
tection of  his  name.  "  To  the  law  and  to  the 
testimony ! "  was  his  unfailing  appeal ;  if  any 
"  spoke  not  according  to  this  Word,"  it  was 
because  there  was  no  life  in  them." 

"0  Book  I  infinite  sweetness!  let  my  heart 
Suck  every  letter ;  and  a  honey  gain, 
Precious  for  any  grief  in  any  part, 
To  clear  the  breast,  to  mollify  all  pain. 

"  Thou  art  all  health :  health  thriving  tiU  it  make 
A  full  eternity. 

Heaven  lies  flat  in  thee, 
Subject  to  every  mounter's  bended  knee. 

"  Such  are  thy  secrets ;  which  my  life  makes  good 
And  comments  on  thee. 
Stars  are  poor  books,  and  oftentimes  do  miss; 
This  book  of  stars  lights  to  eternal  bliss." 

Such  was  Augustine's  daily  inner  life ;  and  he 
who  appreciates  aright  the  lesson  of  that  life, 
will  go,  with  a  deeper  relish  and  on  "  bended 
knee,"  to  the  Word  which  was  his  daily 
all. 

Churches  live  and  die,  but  the  Church  is 


10  TRKFACE. 

eternal.  Carthage  and  Hippo  and  the  whole 
African  Church  are  gone ;  but  Augustine's 
Lord  lives  on, — and  Augustine,  "being  dead, 
yet  speaketh." 

London,    Dec.  15.  1858. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  Mother's  Tears— The  Family  of  Thegaste — The  "Decrep- 
id  Maid  " — Monica's  First  Lesson  —  "  Moulding  the 
Thirst"— The  "Wine  cellar— " Daily  Littles"— "A  Wlne- 
bibber"  —  The  Finger  of  God — Sovereign  Grace — 
Awakening  —  Struggles  —  "  The  Saving  Plank"— The 
Starting  Point—"  Not  her  Gifts,  but  Thine  in  her," 

Pp.  23—27 

CHAPTER  IL 

Bad  Husbands  and  Good  Wives— the  Young  Freeman — 
" Choleric"  —  Unequal  Yoke  —  "A  Blessing  above 
Riches"  —  The  Honeymoon  —  Revels  —  Patience  and 
Prayer — The  Wife-beater —An  "  Indenture  " — '•  Med- 
dhng  Tongues" — "Preaching  Thee"— A  Peacemaker — 
"School  of  the  Heart''— The  Infant,        .         Pp.  28— 33 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  Wheel  of  Providence— A  Parallel — Goliath  and  David — 
The  Training — Infant  Experiences— Poetic  Fancy  and 
Sober  Truth — "Flung  About" —" Indignant  at  my  El- 

[11] 


12  CONTEXTS. 

ders"'-  Sins  of  lufancy— Evil  Tempers — Xew  Lessons 
— Who  made  sin?— The  "Speaking  Boy"  —  ITow  ho 
Learned  to  Speak— "  Current  Signs' ' — Monica— Secret 
Breathings  -  the  Boy's  First  Terror — "Like  near  Death,' 

Pp.  .34-39 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Fireside-seeue — A  Colloquy — "To  School'' — ''Make  a  Fig- 
ure' ' — "  Tongue-science  ' ' — A  Longing  —  School-mise- 
ries— A  "Custom" — The  Birch — "Mocked  my  Stripes''* 
— First  Prayer — "Not  Heard" — Idleness  and  Business 
— Boys  and  Men — A  Contrast — The  Shows  —  '•  Wild 
Oats"— The  Spectre— Boy  Torments,      .        Pp.  40—45 

CHAPTER  V. 

An  Aspiration  —  "Repose  on  Thee"  —  School-Life  —  The 
Hacked  Bench  —  '•  Hates  Greek"  —  -^neas  —  Dido — 
Tears — No  Penitence — The  Idol — A  Task — '•  Smoke  and 
Wind" — Classic  IMythology — Crimes  no  longer  Crimes — 
Kindred  Spark — "  A  Hopeful  Boy" — New  Studies — 
"  Corruptions"— Seared  Conscience — "Clanks  of  tho 
Chain" — Father's  Conversion— Year  at  Home— Harden- 
ing— Coral  Island — Monica — "  Womanish  Advices" — 
"  God  in  Her"—"  Barren  Land,"  .         .         Pp.  46-53 

CHAPTER  VI. 

A  Scene  in  Carthage— The  Corso— The  Theatre — The  School 
Tilting — "  Cauldron  of  Unholy  Loves" — Stage-Plays — 
First  Arrow — Hortensius — "  An  Immortality  of  Wis- 
dom"—The  Check— "Name  of  Christ"— Secret  Sighing 
— Father's  Death— Stroke  "not  Inopportune" — IMonica 
— Bible  and  TuUy — "  A  Little  One" — Haven  in  Sight- 
Not  yet, Pp.  54  -  59 


CONTEXTS.  13 

CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Imposter—Manicheism— Spirit  aud  Matter— The  Student 
of  Carthage  —  "  Glittering  Phantasies"  —  "Truth  ! 
Truth!"— Lime  and  tlie  Spring— Monica — A  Vision — 
Tlie  "Wooden  Rule"— The  Interpretation  — "  My  Wak- 
ing Mother" —  "  Him  Only" — Monica  and  the  Bishop — 
The  "Care-worn  Cheek" — "AVait  and  Pray"— The 
Ruling  Passion  —A  Wizard — Another  Snare, 

Pp.   60-67 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Waif— New  Imposture— Nativity-Casters— Scenes  in  the 
Circus—  "Agonistic  Garland''— Roman  Proconsul  — 
The  Colloquy — 'Dupe  of  Lies" — Another  Delusion — 
The  ''Ten  Predicaments"' — A  Town  Celebrity — Blind- 
ing Spell— New  Experiment—  Liberal  Arts— Gilded 
Cheat— Back  to  the  Light— "Vile  Slave" — "Every- 
where Vain," Pp.  68—14 

CHAITER  IX. 

The  Two  Friends  -Double  Solitude--'  Out  of  Two,  One"— 
"Erred  in  Mind"— "Sore  Fever"— "Death-sweat"— The 
Recovery — Rebuke— New  Attack— Death— Aurelius  in 
Tears — Other  Self— Torn  Heart — No  Repose  —  "  One 
Soul  in  Two  Bodies" — "Not  Live  Halved" — God  a 
Phantom — "Mere  Brightness" — Refuge— Other  Friends 
—Bitter  Discipline,        .         .        .         .         Pp   75—81 

CHAPTER  X. 

Pride— Death-blow— "  An  Almsman  of  God"— Lowest  Pit 

— The  Fair  and  the  Fit—"  Corporeal  Fictions"— Author 

— Dedication — Roman  Orator — Broken  Reed— God  is 

Light — "  Resisteth  the  Proud" — New  Delusion — Long- 

o 


1-i  CONTENTS. 

ings — Wit  and  Godlinoss— An  Arrival — "Snare  of  the 
Devil" — Manicliean  Bishop— The  Good  Part— '•  Eepose 
in  Thee"— Heretic  Unmasked—'-  So  Great  Madness" — 
Extremity— The  Holdfast— A  Brighter  Day  at  Hand, 

Pp.  82—91 

CHAPTER  XL 

The  Two  Travellers —The  Struggle— Midnight-Prayers— The 
Setting-out— Monica  Alone — "  Frantic  with  Sorrow" — 
Scene  in  Rome — Augustine  on  a  Sick-bed — "  Going 
down  into  Hell" — The  Manichee— "The  Cross  a  Phan- 
tom"— Ferebodings — Crisis — Recovery — "  New  Phren- 
zy" — Dark  Cloud— Silver  Lining — Monica's  Weeping 
Prayers — Rhetoric  Class — New  Vexation— Scholars — 
"Breakers  of  Faith" — Evil  Sect — One  Refuge — The 
Cross— Beck onings— Life  and  "  the  Limbo  of  Death  " — 
Night-Musings  —  The  "Academics"  —  Despair —  The 
Bethel-Ladder. Pp.  92—101 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Scene  at  Milan— The  Governor — "A  Father" — Clerical 
Wranglings —  Popular  Uproar — Dead  Silence — Infant 
Voice — "Ambrose  is  Bishop"  —  "Wholly  to  these 
Things"- -Holy  Walk— Care  for  Souls— Fidelity— Au- 
gustine "Led  to  his  Feet" — Rhetoric  Reader — Wel- 
come—The  Secret  Corner — "Idols  of  tlie  Cave"— Sick 
Soul — "Gross-hearted''  —  "Filmy  Darkness" — What 
and  How— The  "Eloquent"  and  the  "  True"— Pros- 
pects,          Pp.  102—110 

CHAPTER  XIIL 

The  Praying  One  at  Thcgaste—"  These  Tears"— "Child  of 
Weakness  " — "  King's   Remembrancer" — Hidden   Uses 


CONTEXTS.  15 

— Setting  Out — The  Voyage — Monica  and  tlie  Mariners 
— Harbour  of  Genoa— Landscape— "One  Object" — The 
Lost  One— A  Parallel— Gaol  at  Milan— Silvio  Pellico  — 
Neglected  Bible—"  Foolish  Pleasantries  "— "  That  Vil- 
lain of  a  Book  " — The  Babe-Keprover — "A  Force-put  " 
—The  Weeping  —"  Himself  Again  '' — Monica's  Mission 
—Arrival, Pp.  111—116 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  Meeting — "Rescued  from  Falsehood" — "No  Way  to 
God  "—Monica's  Faith— "The  Bier  of  Her  Thoughts  " 
—The  Cathedral— "An  Angel  of  God  "—The  Two  Hear- 
ers—"  Bird-hme  of  Death"— The  Jolly  Beggar— " The 
Staff  of  Thy  Correction  "—The  Propliet's  Chamber— The 
Radiant  Smile— The  Two  Visitors— The  Interview — 
"Such  a  Mother"— "The  Wor.-^e  Killed  "—New  Expe- 
dient— Alypius— "The  Word  in  Season" — "Manichean 
Meshes  "—Scene  in  the  Amphitheatre — "Drinking  in 
Phreuzy  " — Youthful  Lawyer— Nebridius— The  Utopia 
— A  Warning— The  "Philosophical  Union"— The  Col- 
lapse,   Pp.  117—137 

CHAPTER   XV. 

Monica  and  the  Maiden— New  Pollutions — Conscience — 
"Thou  alone  Rest  "—Another  Vanity— Scepticism — 
"Whence  is  Evil?" — Heart-pangs— New  Snare— The 
"  Platonists  "— "  Not  Skilled  but  Killed  "—The  Stum- 
blingblock— "No  Way,"    .         ,         .         Pp.  132— 139 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

The  Roman  Rhetorician— Idol  Worshipper — "Already  a 
Christian" — Lingering  — The   Good   Confession — "Vic- 


16  CONTEXTS. 

torinus!  Yictorinus!  "—Milan — "On  Fire  to  Imitate" 
— "  "Wordy  School "— "  Thy  Word  "—"Thee  Only  "— 
"Not  Another's  Irons"— "My  Own  Iron  Will  "—The 
"Warring  "— "  Necessity  "—"Two  Wills"—"  Baggage 
of  this  Present  World  "—Incident— Besetting  Sin — 
"Anon,  Anon!" — Lethargy— "Presently,  Presently" — 
"No  Present  "— Day-Star— "  Thy  Full-Eyed  Love," 

Pp.  140—146 

CHAPTER  XYTT. 

The  Three  Friends— Night-Colloquies— The  Stranger— "  This 
Book" — A  Story  of  Grace— The  Cottage— Object  of 
Life — Friend  of  God— Turning  Point — "Changed  In- 
wardly " — Purpose  Settled — Augustine  Arrested — Set 
Over  Against  Himself—"  Only  not  Yet  "—The  Delay — 
"A  Mute  Shrinking  " — The  Suspense — "  What  Ails 
Us?"— The  Little  Garden— "  Dying  to  Live  "-Scene 
under  the  Tree— Bodily  Contortions— Lessons — "Up- 
borne and  Down-borne,"    .         .         .         Pp.  147 — 159 

CHAPTER    XYIIL 

Final  Gropings  — "A  Severe  Mercy" — The  '-Flatterer" — "A 
Deadly  Twitch  " — The  Fleshly  Garment — Continency — 
The  Blush— The  Retreat— Choked  with  Weeping— 
The  Fig-Tree— "  Why  not  Now?"— Garden  at  Milan— 
Night-Scene— The  Voice— "Tolle,  Lege  I  "— Command 
from  Heaven — "Live" — Perfect  Peace — Pilgrim  at  the 
Cross — Burden  Gone — "  Redeemed  with  Thy  Love" — 
Dawning  Day—"  Behold,  I  See,"        .         Pp.  160—168 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

A  Parallel — Alfred  and  the  Bible — Villa  at  Milan — Longings 
—"AH  for  Christ  "—Monica—"  Sow  in  Tears  "— "  Reap 


CONTEXTS.  17 

ia  Joy  " — Detaching  and  Attacliing — Xew  aftectiou — 
"Expulsive  Power" — ''Marts  of  Lip-labour"' — The 
Interval— Retreat— The  Host  -Barbed  Arrow—  The 
Healer  — Augustine's  Wart  burg — ' '  Inward  Goads  " — 
Missionary  Yearnings— Divine  Lessons— Parallel — Bun- 
yan — Sensations — "  The  Power  of  Thy  Nod  " — Vintage- 
vacation— Ambrose— Counsels,  .        Pp.  169—183 

CHAPTER   XX. 

Scenes  in  Milan  Cathedral — Persecution— The  Watch — Mon- 
ica—" Lived  for  Prayer  "—Street  Psalmody — Augustine 
— Weeping  in  Canticles— "Breathmg  in  Thee  " — Milan 
Brotherhood — Alypius— "  Valiant  Tamer  " — Euodius — 
Adeodatus — Xebridius — "  My  Sweet  Friend  " — "  End- 
lessly Happy  "— Journey  to  Africa— Scene  at  Ostia — 
Monica — Heavenly  "  Gaspings  " — Delectable  Mountains 
— Illness — Translation — "  StLU  savouring  such  Things  " 
— The  Weeping  Circle— The  Burial— "Slavery  for  Me  " 
— "  Life  Rent  Asunder  " — Double  Sorrow — Retrospect, 

Pp.  183-200 

CHAPTER   XXL 

Road  from  Ostia -Mourning  Travellers— Sore  Grief— Gleam 
of  Sunshine — Augustine  at  Rome — "  Living  among 
the  Dead  "—Voyage  —  Th.egaste  —  Retreat  —  Desert- 
Teachings— Inner  Life— Breathings— "  Universal  The- 
ophany"— Its  Emptiness- "Odour  of  Thy  Ointments " 
— Childhke  Faith— "High  Tower  of  Hope  "—Medita- 
tions—Christ  Only— Yearnings,  .         Pp.  201 — 209 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

A  Parallel — Aspirations — Christ- Attachment — "All  Over 
Love  "— Vinet— The  "  Single  Word  " — Christ  an  "  Idea  " 


18  CONTENTS. 

— Neander --What  Makes  the  Divme  -  "  Dehghtful  Dif- 
ficulty"— "His  Sweetness" — Luther — The  Couscience — 
The  Blood — The  Righteousness —Holy  Living — Right 
Man  in  Right  Place -Divine  Teachings,      Pp.  210—219 

CHAPTER  XXIIL 

Call  to  Hippo— Awakening— Welcome— Breathings — "  Dart 
of  Thy  Love" — Bible-study — World  Behind  His  Back — 
'•  Some  Loose  " — "  Our  Rough  Storm  " — Bishop  Valerius 
■ — Appeal  to  the  People -Augustine  Chosen — Flood  of 
Tears— Ordained  a  Presbyter,     .         .         Pp.  220—226 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  Pastor— Pulpit— "  Joy  and  Throne  "— "  Holy  "— A'ale- 
rius  —  Unsellish— Fervent  Appeals  — "  Heart-deep  " — 
"Beseeching" — "Eyes  lifted  up  to  Heaven" — Secret 
Whispering— Win  Souls— Christ  Only —"  Triumph  in 
Christ  "—Conversation— A  Soul  Saved — Believe  and 
Live, Pp.  227—237 

CHAPTER   XXV. 

The  Episcopate  —  Call — "So  Great  a  Treasure  "-Priestly 
Pretension—"  Throne  "—Valerius  —  Installed— Augus- 
tine in  His  See—"  My  only  Claim  '" — Preaching — Rul- 
ing Passion  -  Scene  in  Church  at  Hippo—"  First  Weep- 
ing over  Them  " — "Amendment  "—Scene  at  C;esarea — 
Acclamations  —  Tears  —  Reformation  —  A  Parallel  — 
Whiteheld— "  Rainbow  round  His  Head  " — "  Ornamen- 
tal Eloquence  "— "  The  Sublime  "— "  His  Great  Excel- 
lence "—The  "  Common  People"— Cold  Critics— "One 
Business"—  Domestic  Life— Hospitality— Simplicity— 
"  Moderation  "—Not  a  Monk— Sunny  Spot -Con versa- 


CONTENTS.  19 

tion — "  Seasoned  with  Salt  " — A  Distich — Table — Inci- 
dent— Peace-maker — "  God's  Pauper  " — "A  Beggar  for 
Beggars," Pp.  238—248 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Heresies — "  Spirit  Stirred  in  Him  " — Pelagius — His  Errors 
— Denial  of  Depravity— Relation  to  Manicheism — Ori- 
gen — Pelagianism — Luther  and  Justification — Augustine 
and  the  New  Birth— Gentleness — "Grace" — Council 
— "  Christian  Brother  " — Augustine's  Remonstrance — 
A  Wanderer — Tender  Appeal — "  Forget  He  is  a  Chris- 
tian "— "  Not  ray  Fault  "— "  Evil  Heart  is  Sin  " — "  Not 
Steal  Thy  Glory  "—"  Infinite  Hazards  "—"  Lord  Our 
Help  "—New  Heresies— Attempt  on  His  Life— Schism 
— Donatists — Circumcelliones — Banditti— Persecution, 

Pp.  249—263 

CHAPTER  XXYIL 

A  Superstition— Church  Declining — L^pas  Tree — Augustine's 
Preservative — Sacramentarianism  —  The  Death-clothes 
not  the  Living  Man — Weeds  and  Cedars — A  Soul-seek- 
ing Minister — "  Servile  Usages  " — "  Chaft"  and  Tares  " — 
Baptism — "  Starve  in  Midst  of  Plenty  " — "  Lurking  Ven- 
om " —  Breathings— A  Parallel — Christ  All — Massive 
Theology — The  Two  Adams — The  Scriptures — Deepen- 
ing Relish— Neander — Dean  Trench — "Rapturous  De- 
light " — "  Wells  of  Salvation  " — "  Drawing  Dry  " — "  No 
Time  for  Bible  " — "  Confessional  " — "Ad  ipsum  Domi- 
num  " — The  Side-chamber  and  the  Word — "In  Heart 
an  Infant"— "I  am  a  Little  Child  "—Not  a  Stoic— 
"  Kindle  Me,"    .  ...        Pp.  264— 2^73 


20  CONTEXTS. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


Toiling  in  Rowing" — Trials— Hard  Hearts— "Not  Saved 
without  You  " — His  One  Business  — "  Preach  unto 
Christ"— "His  Passion  "— Secret  of  Pulpit-Power— 
"Pray  before  you  Speak" — Another  Trial  —  Empire 
Reeling— The  Goths— A  Pagan  Calumny— Apology— 
'•  City  of  God  "  —  Decline  and  Fall  —  Real  Cause— 
"Seeds  of  Dissolution"- Christians  Spared— Heavenly 
Fervour—"  Great  Things  not  Here  " — A  Symbol— Alar- 
ic's  Ravages— Capitol — "City  which  hath  Foundations" 
— "  Baggage  of  Virtue  " — Free-will  Offerings— Legacies 
— Care  of  Flock -Catechising— "Speak  Cheerfully" — 
"  In  God's  Hands  " — A  Spiritual  Automaton— Safe- 
guard— "  Love  in  Heart  "—Longings—"  His  own  Flesh '' 
— "  Our  own  Blood  in  His  Veins " — Acceptance  in 
Heaven,  and  Rejection  on  Earth— Rejoicing  in  the  Lord 
— Rejoicing  in  the  World — Breathings — "Spouse  of 
Christ"— The  Glory— A^eteran  Preachers— Fresh  Les- 
sons— Waiting  on  God — "  In  that  Hour  "—Not  a  Fanat- 
ic— Labour  — "  Prayer  and.  Study  " — Mellowed  Light — 
"Will  of  God"— "Whole"— "Sick"— A  Glimpse  — 
"  Immanuel's  Land  "— "  Face  to  Face,"      Pp.  2U— 288 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

LAST   DAYS. 

Approaching  f)nd— The  Vandals— Invasion — "Beasts  of 
Prey  " —  Last  Stronghold  —  Hippo  —True  Shepherd — 
"  Nether  Springs"  and  "Upper  Springs  " — A  Parallel — 
"Apostle  to  Indians"— Preaching— "Too  Late  did  I 
Love  Thee  " — Table-talk — Heavenly  Longings — Vesti- 
bule of  Glory — Carnage — Prophetic  Glow  —  Fever — 


CONTENTS.  21 

Sick-chamber  —  Horaeward-Bound  —  Aspirations  — 
Watching  for  Souls— Roman  General— Bed-side  Appeal 
—  A  Parallel —  "  Oh,  I  am  Naked!"  —  Penitential 
Psalms— Tears  — "  Sick  of  Love  " — "  Can  only  Burn  " — 
"  Pleasant  Nutriment  " —  Bequest  — "  Pauper  Dei  " — 
Growing  Weakness— Patience  —Siege— Scenes  of  Blood 
— Brighter  Fellowship — '•  Lamentable  Joys  " — "  Joyous 
Sorrows  " — Deathbed  Triumphs— Chamber  at  Hippo — 
Last  Moments  -"  Inextinguishable  Burning  of  Vehe- 
ment Longing  " — "  Flames  of  Love  " — Fire  chariot — 
Translation— Sequel— Hippo  Taken — Church  Scattered 
— Augustine  "  Lived  on  " — Mission — "  In  the  Dust " — 
Divine  Grace — A  Parallel — "An  Inch  Deeper" — "  Grace 
of  Christ  only,"  ....         Pp.  289—305 


'  Be  it  a  weakness,  it  deserves  some  praise, 
We  love  the  play-place  of  our  early  days  ; 
The  scene  is  touching, — and  the  heart  is  stone 
That  feels  not  at  that  sight,  and  feels  at  none.' 


"  Go  thy  ways,  and  God  bless  tliee ;  for  it  is 
not  possible  that  the  son  of  these  tears  should 
perish."  So  spoke,  one  evening,  a  holy  man 
in  North  Africa  to  a  weeping  mother  who 
had  begged  his  friendly  offices  in  behalf  of  her 
erring  son.  The  answer  she  "took  as  if  it  had 
sounded  from  heaven."  The  prodigal  was  the 
future  Augustine — the  weepiog  mother  was 
Monica. 

In  the  little  town  of  Thegaste,  not  far  from 
Carthage,  there  lived  in  those  daj^s  a  family  in 
middle  life,  known  among  the  pagan  neigh- 
bors as  "a  Christian  house."  The  soul  of  the 
household  was  "a  certain  decrepid  maid,"  who, 

[23] 


24  MEMOIE   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

having  "carried  the  father  when  a  child,  as 
little  ones  were  wont  to  be  carried  at  the  back 
of  elder  girls,"  and  being  now  "  of  great  age 
and  of  excellent  convei'sation,"  was  "well  re- 
spected by  the  house."  To  her,  as  to  a  second 
mother,  the  daughters  of  the  family  were  en- 
trusted; and  "diligent  heed  she  gave  unto 
her  charge,"  "  restraining  them  earnestly,  when 
needful,  with  a  holy  severity,"  and  "  teaching 
them  with  a  grave  discretion." 

One  lesson  of  this  Mentor  betrayed  her 
peculiar  bent.  Except  at  the  regular  meals, 
the  girls  were  "not  suffered,  tbougb  parched 
w^ith  tliirst,  to  drink  even  water."  And  this 
"wholesome  advice"  was  added — "Ye  drink 
water  now,  because  ye  have  not  wine  in  your 
power ;  but,  when  you  come  to  be  married,  and 
be  made  mistresses  of  cellars  and  cupboards, 
you  will  scorn  water,  but  the  custom  of  drink- 
ing will  abide."  "  By  this  method  of  instruc- 
tion," says  Augustine,^*  "and  by  the  authority 
she  had,  she  resti*ained  the  greediness  of  child- 
hood, and  moulded  their  very  thirst  to  such  an 

*  The  quotations  are  from  the  "  Confessions "  and  other 
■writinf'S  of  Aujiustine. 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  25 

excellent  moderation,  that  what  they  should 
not,  that  they  would  not." 

The  lesson,  however,  had  not  told  on  all. 
One  of  the  ch'clc  by  and  by  began  to  "feel 
creeping  upon  her  a  love  of  wine."  The  cus- 
tom of  the  house  was  for  some  member  of  the 
family  to  draw  wine  out  of  the  hogshead  into 
a  flagon,  for  daily  use.  For  this  office  Monica 
was  usually  selected,  "as  though  a  sober 
maiden;"  and,  one  day,  as  she  was  passing 
the  wine  from  the  vessel  to  the  flagon,  she 
"sipped  a  little  wdth  the  tip  of  her  lips,"  for 
"  more  her  instinctive  feelings  refused."  Habits 
are  formed  out  of  single  acts,  as  a  cable  out  of 
single  threads.  That  day,  in  the  cellar,  the 
first  thread  had  been  woven.  "This  I  did," 
says  Monica,  "  not  out  of  any  desire  of  drink, 
but  out  of  the  exuberance  of  youth,  whereby 
it  boils  over  in  mirthful  freaks.  And  thus,  by 
adding  to  that  little  daily  littles,  (for,  '  w^hoso 
despiseth  little  things  shall  fall  by  little  and 
little,')  I  fell  into  such  a  habit  as  greedily  to 
drink  off  my  little  cup,  brim-full  almost  of 
wine." 

But  God  had  a  purpose  of  grace  towards 


26  MEMOIR  OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

that  maiden;  and  strangely  did  He  work  it 
out. 

One  day,  a  domestic,  who  bad  been  in  tlie 
liabit  of  going  to  the  cellar  with  her^  "  fell  to 
words  with  her  little  mistress;"  and,  in  the 
outburst  of  passion,  she  "taunted  her  with 
most  bitter  insult,  calling  her  a  wine-bibber.'" 
Stung  to  the  quick,  Monica  "  saw  the  foulness 
of  her  fault,  instantly  condemning  and  forsak- 
ing it."  It  was,  in  truth,  the  finger  of  God. 
"  Would  aught,"  said  Augustine,  many  years 
afterwards,  "  avail  against  a  secret  disease,  if 
Thy  healing  hand,  O  Lord,  watched  not  over 
us?  Father,  mother,  and  governors  absent; 
Thou  present,  who  createdst,  who  callest,  who 
also,  by  those  set  over  us,  workest  something 
towards  the  salvation  of  our  souls; — what 
didst  thou  then,  O  my  God?  How  didst  thou 
cure  her?  How  heal  her?  Didst  thou  not, 
out  of  another  soul,  bring  forth  a  hard  and  a 
sharp  taunt,  like  a  lancet  out  of  thy  secret  store, 
and  with  one  touch  remove  all  that  foul  stuff?  '* 

It  was  one  of  the  earliest  readings  of  God's 
"  sovereign  grace,"  which  had  met  the  eye  of 
the  future   champion   of  the   faith.     *'  Thou, 


MEMOIR  OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE.  27 

Lord,"  lie  wrote  again,  alluding  to  the  scene, 
"Governor  of  all  in  heaven,  and  earth,  who 
turnest  to  thy  purposes  the  deepest  currents 
and  the  ruled  turbulence  of  the  tide  of  times, 
didst,  by  the  very  unhealthiness  of  one  soul, 
heal  another ;  for  she  in  anger  sought  to  vex 
her  young  mistress,  not  to  amend  her:  and 
this,  lest  any,  wishing  to  reform  another,  and 
finding  him  reformed  through  words  of  his, 
should  ascribe  it  to  his  own  power." 

Awakened  to  a  piercing  sense  of  sin,  she 
trembled  for  the  wrath  to  come.  Many  a 
struggle  followed ;  until,  at  length,  one  morn- 
ing, like  a  shipwrecked  mariner,  she  grasped 
"  the  saving  plank,"  and  got  safe  to  land.  And, 
her  sins  now  forgiven,  she,  from  the  depths  of 
her  broken  heart,  was  to  pour  forth  a  fragrance 
more  sweet  than  that  of  myrrh,  and  aloes,  and 
cassia.  "  Not  her  gifts,"  wrote  Augustine,  long 
afterwards,  "  but  Thine  in  her,  would  I  speak 
of;  for  neither  did  she  make  nor  educate  her- 
self. Thou  createdst  her ;  and  the  sceptre  of 
Thy  Christ,  the  discipline  of  Thine  only  Son, 
in  a  Christian  house,  a  good  member  of  Thy 
Church  educated  her  in  Thy  fear." 


II. 


"  In  thy  flesh  there  hath  been  planted,  by  the  foe,  a  pricking  thorn  ; 
And,  as  hour  by  hour  it  rankleth,  thou  art  weary,  foint,  and  worn." 

"  It  is  often  seen,"  says  Lord  Bacon,  "  that  bad 
husbands  have  very  good  wives."  Monica  was 
to  find  in  her  future  husband  her  first  heavenly 
discipline. 

In  Thegaste,  a  young  freeman  might  be  seen, 
in  those  days,  foremost  in  the  pagan  shows, 
and  not  seldom  in  "  hot  conflict  with  neighbor 
lads  of  the  town,"  but  fashioned  by  nature  for 
warm  and  generous  friendships,  and  drawing 
around  him  many  hearts.  "Fervid,  as  in  his 
affections,  so  in  anger,"  Patricius  Augustinus 
was  on  occasions  so  "choleric,"  as  to  be  the 
terror,  for  the  time,  of  the  whole  neighborhood. 
Though  a  pagan,  and  leading  a  pagan's  im- 
moral life,  he  won  the  affections  of  the  youth- 
[28] 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  29 

ful  Monica ;  and,  scarcely  had  slie  reached  the 
"marriageable  age,"  when  she  entered  the 
"  unequal  yoke." 

One  of  our  poets  has  written — 

"When  thou  choosest  a  Avife,  think  not  cnly  of  thyself, 
But  of  those  God  may  give  thee  of  her,  that  they 
reproach  thee  not  for  their  being." 

And  again — 

"  Let  her  be  a  child  of  God,  that  she  bring  with  her  a 
blessing  to  thy  house — 
A  blessing  above  riches,  and  leading  contentment  in 
its  train." 

Little  did  poor  Patricius  think  that  day  of  such 
a  blessing  as  in  store  for  him ;  but  a  Hand  was 
leading  the  future  mother,  too  skilful*  to  miss 
its  aim. 

Monica  had  sinned,  for  she  had  not  married 
"in  the  Lord;"  and  many  bitter  tears  it  cost 
her,  and  "  a  great  fight  of  afflictions." 

The  honeymoon  was  not  Avell  over,  when 
Patricius  was  at  his  old  ways — night  after 
night  a  stranger  to  the  home-hearth — a  fre- 
quenter of  revels;   and  returning  again  and 

*  Pa.  Ixxviii.  72. 

3* 


30  MEMOIR    OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

again  to  his  youtliful  wife,  only  to  rage  and 
scold,  and  even,  at  times,  to  lift  his  hand  to 
her.  Monica  gave  herself  to  patience  and  to 
prayer.  "She  so  endured,"  says  Augustine, 
"  the  wronging  of  her  bed,  as  never  to  have 
any  quarrel  with  her  husband  thereon.  For 
she  looked  for  Thy  mercy  upon  him,  that, 
believing  in  Thee,  he  might  be  made  chaste." 

And  he  adds : — "  She  had  learned  not  to 
resist  an  angry  husband,  not  in  deed  only,  but 
not  even  in  word.  Only  when  he  was  smooth 
and  tranquil,  and  in  a  temper  to  receive  it,  she 
would  give  an  account  of  her  actions,  if  haply 
he  had  overhastily  taken  offence.  In  a  word, 
while  many  matrons,  who  had  milder  husbands, 
would  in  familiar  talk  blame  their  husbands' 
lives,  she  would  blame  their  tongues.  And, 
when  they,  knowing  what  a  choleric  husband 
she  endured,  marvelled  that  it  had  never  been 
heard,  nor  by  any  token  perceived,  that  Pa- 
tricius  had  beaten  his  wife,  or  that  there  had 
been  any  domestic  difference  between  them, 
even  for  one  day, — confidentially  asking  the 
reason,  she  told  them,  that,  from  the  time  she 
heard  the  marriage-writings  read  to  her,  she 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  81 

had  accounted  them  an  indenture,  binding  lier 
not  to  set  herself  up  against  her  lord." 

Monica  had  another  trial  under  the  home- 
roof.  Patricius  had  a  peevish  mother,  whose 
suspicious  temperament,  finding  a  ready  accom- 
plice in  the  "  whisperings  of  evil  servants," 
was  to  the  household  a  daily  rankling  sore. 
But,  even  for  her,  Monica's  "persevering  en- 
durance and  meekness"  were  too  much;  and, 
at  length,  the  shrew  was  "so  overcome,"  that 
she  "of  her  own  accord  discovered  to  her  sou 
the  meddling  tongues"  which  had  disturbed 
the  domestic  peace,  entreating  him  to  correct 
them.  The  wound  was  healed ;  and  they  hence- 
forth "lived  together  with  a  remarkable  sweet- 
ness of  mutual  kindness." 

"Love,"  it  is  written,  "thinketh  no  evil." 
Monica  possessed  that  life-sweetening  grace. 
"  This  great  gift  also,"  says  Augustine,  "  Thou 
bestowedst,  O  my  God,  my  Mercy,  upon  that 
good  handmaid  of  Thine,  in  whose  womb  Thou 
createdst  me,  that,  between  any  disagreeing 
and  discordant  parties,  where  she  was  able,  she 
shewed  herself  such  a  peacemaker,  that,  hearing 
on  both  sides  most  bitter  things,  such  as  swell- 


32  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

ing  and  undigested  clioler  uses  to  break  forth 
into  when  the  crudities  of  enmities  are  breathed 
out  in  sour  discourses  to  a  present  friend  against 
an  absent  enemy,  she  never  would  disclose 
aught  of  the  one  unto  the  other,  but  what  might 
tend  to  their  reconcilement.  Such  was  she; 
Thyself,  her  most  inward  Instructor,  teaching 
her  in  the  school  of  the  heart." 

And,  alluding  to  these  first  years  of  her 
married  life,  he  adds : — "  She'  served  her  hus- 
band as  her  lord,  and  did  her  dihgence  to  win 
him  unto  Thee, — preaching  Thee  unto  him  in 
lier  conversation  by  which  Thou  ornamentedst 
her,  making  her  reverently  amiable  and  admi- 
rable unto  him." 

At  length,  he  Avho  one  day  was  to  be 
"brought  forth  by  her  in  heart,  that  he  might 
be  born  to  light  eternal,"  was  "  brought  forth 
by  her  in  the  flesh,  that  he  might  be  born  into 
this  temporal  light."  It  was  on  the  thirteenth 
of  November,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  85St  ^^ 

"  A  babe  in  a  house  is  a  well-spring,  a  messenger  of 
peace  and  love." 

The  infant  Aurelius  was  "taken  up  by  the 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  33 

comforts  of  God's  compassion ;"  and  that  "man- 
sion of  the  soul,"  so  narrow  and  so  ruinous, 
was  not  to  be  let  alone  until  it  had  been  re- 
paired and  enlarged,  and  made  a  fit  dwelling 
for  Himself. 


III. 

"  How  soft  and  peaceful  were  my  slumbers  then, 
Blessed  by  that  lovely  thing,  a  mother's  song  I 
How  welcome  was  the  waking  with  the  day, 
How  glad  the  greeting  with  my  playmate  throng  I 
How  beautiful  I  thought  the  daisy  wreath, 
With  which  I  then  adorn'd  my  infant  brow  I 
No  coronet  would  be  so  highly  prized, 
Or  give  the  wearer  half  such  pleasure  now." 

*'  Man,"  it  lias  been  said, 

•'  Doeth  one  thing  at  once,  nor  can  he  think  two 
thoughts  together ; 
But  God  compasseth  all  things." 

The  same  year  wliicli  gave  birth  to  the  infant 
Corsican  who  was  one  day  to  scourge  Europe 
saw  in  another  far-distant  island  of  the  sea  the 
earliest  smile  of  him  who  was  to  chain  the 
Gallic  eagle  to  the  solitary  rock  of  St.  Helena. 
In  like  manner,  just  as  the  babe  of  Thegaste 
appeared,  a  mother  in  a  lonely  cottage  in  Brit- 

[34] 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  85 

ain  Avas  already  nurturing  a  spirit  which  one 
day  was  to  scourge  the  Church  with  one  of  its 
deadh,est  heresies.  By  and  by,  we  shall  meet 
Pelagius  on  the  scene  of  conflict.  Meanwhile, 
we  turn  aside  to  the  nursling-champion  whom 
God.  was  rearing  to  smite  him  down. 

In  his  own  quaint  way,  Augustine  thus  de- 
scribes his  first  experience  in  this  vale  of  tears  : 
"  I  here  received  (as  I  heard,  for  I  remember 
it  not)  the  comforts  of  woman's  milk.  For 
neither  my  mother  nor  my  nurses  stored  their 
own  breasts  for  me,  but  Thou  didst  bestow  the 
food  of  my  infancy  through  them,  according  to 
Thine  ordinance,  whereby  Thou  distributest 
Thy  riches  through  the  hidden  springs  of  all 
things.  Thou  also  gavest  me  to  desire  no 
more  than  Thou  gavest,  and  to  my  nurses 
willingly  to  give  me  what  Thou  gavest  them  ; 
for  they,  with  a  heaven-taught  affection,  wil- 
lingly gave  me  what  they  abounded  with  from 
Thee.  And  this,  my  good  from  them,  was 
good  for  them :  nor,  indeed,  from  them  was  it, 
but  through  them  ;  for  from  Thee,  0  God,  are 
all  good  things,  and  from  my  God  is  all  my 
health.      This  I  have   since  learned, — Thou, 


36  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

through  these  Thy  gifts,  within  me  and  with- 
out, prochiiming  Thyself  unto  me  ;  for  then  I 
knew  but  to  suck — ^to  repose  in  what  pleased, 
and  to  cry  at  what  offended  my  flesh, — nothing 
more." 

A  babe,  it  has  been  said,  is 

"A  resting  place  for  innocence  on  earth." 

Alas,  for  the  poetic  fancy!  "I  began,"  says 
Augustine,  narrating  the  stern  reality,  "  to 
smile — first  in  sleep,  then  waking ;  for  so  it 
was  told  me,  of  myself.  And,  little  by  little, 
I  became  conscious  w^here  I  was,  and  began  to 
have  a  wish  to  express  my  wishes  to  those  who 
could  content  them.  And  I  could  not,  for  the 
wishes  were  within  me,  and  they  without ;  nor 
could  they,  by  any  sense  of  theirs,  enter  within 
my  spirit.  So  I  flung  about  at  random  limbs 
and  voice,  making  the  few  signs  I  could  and 
such  as  I  could — like  (though  in  truth  very 
little  like)  what  I  wished.  And  when  I  was 
not  presently  obeyed,  I  was  indignant  at  my 
elders  for  not  submitting  to  me  ;  and  I  avenged 
myself  on  them  by  tears." 

And  he  adds: — "  Who  remindeth  me  of  the 


MEMOIli   OF   ST.    AUGUSTI^^E.  37 

sins  of  my  infancy  !  The  weakness  of  infant 
limbs,  not  its  will,  is  its  innocence.  Mj'self 
have  seen  and  known  even  a  baby  envious; 
it  could  not  speak,  yet  it  turned  pale  and 
looked  bitterly  on  its  foster-brother.  Is  that 
innocence,  v/hen  the  fountain  of  milk  is 
flowing  in  rich  abundance,  not  to  endure  one 
to  share  ifc  though  in  extremest  need  and 
whose  very  life  depends  thereon  ?  We  bear 
gently  with  all  this  ;  and  yet,  though  tolerated 
now,  the  very  same  tempers  arc  utterly  intol- 
erable, when  found  in  riper  years.  Alas  !  for 
my  sin  !  for  Thou  madest  me,  but  sin  in  me 
Thou  madest  not.  What  is  it  to  me,  though 
any  comprehend  not  this  ?  " 

By  and  by,  -the  "  speechless  infant "  rose  into 
the  "  speaking  boy."  "  This  I  remember," 
says  he,  "  and  have  since  observed,  how  I 
learned  to  speak.  It  was  not  that  my  elders 
taught  me  words  in  any  set  method;  but  I, 
longing  by  cries  and  broken  accents  and  by 
various  motions  of  my  limbs  to  express  my 
thoughts  that  so  I  might  have  my  will,  and  yet 
unable  to  express  all  I  willed  or  to  whom  I 
willed,  did  myself,  by  the  understanding  which 
4 


38  MEMOIR  OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

Thou,  my  God,  gavest  me,  practise  the  sounds 
in  my  memory.  When  they  named  anything 
and,  as  they  spoke,  turned  towards  it,  I  saw 
and  remembered  that  they  called  what  they 
would  point  out  by  the  name  they  uttered. 
And,  that  they  meant  this  thing  and  no  other, 
was  plain  from  the  motion  of  their  body — the 
natural  language,  as  it  were,  of  all  nations,  ex- 
pressed by  the  countenance,  by  glances  of  the 
eye,  by  gestures  of  the  limbs,  and  by  tones  of 
the  voice,  indicating  the  affections  of  the  mind 
as  it  pursues,  possesses,  rejects  or  shuns.  And 
thus,  by  constantly  hearing  words  as  they  oc- 
curred in  various  sentences,  I  collected  gradu- 
ally for  what  they  stood ;  and,  having  broken 
in  my  mouth  to  these  signs,  I  thereby  gave  ut- 
terance to  my  will.  Thus  I  exchanged  with 
those  about  me  those  current  signs  of  our  wills, 
and  so  launched  deeper  into  the  stormy  inter- 
course of  human  life,  yet  depending  on  parental 
authority  and  on  the  beck  of  elders." 

"  The  joys  of  parents,"  says  Bacon,  ''  are  se- 
cret ;  and  so  are  their  griefs  and  fears :  they 
cannot  utter  the  one ;  and  they  will  not  utter 
the  other."     As  Monica  gazed  upon  her  boy, 


MEMOIR  OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE.  39 

slie  would  breathe  into  tlie  ear  of  her  Lord — 
the  only  ear  into  whicli  she  could  breathe 
freely — many  a  tremulous  aspiration.  "  There 
is  an  eternal  life,"  she  would  whisper  to  him, 
"promised  through  the  humility  of  the  Lord 
our  God  stooping  to  our  pride."  And  often, 
often  did  she  pray  that  the  good  seed  might 
take  root. 

One  day,  in  a  field,  the  boy  was  "  attacked 
with  a  sudden  oppression  of  the  stomach,"  and 
was  "  like  near  death."  A  strange  terror  seized 
him,  until,  after  a  few  days,  he  "  suddenly  re- 
covered." The  terror  wore  off  as  suddenly  as 
it  had  come ;  but  it  was  the  first  heavings  of 
that  troubled  sea  which,  only  after  a  tossing 
of  his  frail  bark  upon  its  billows  for  nearly 
thirty  years,  was  to  hear  the  voice  from  heaven, 
saying,  "  Peace  I  be  still !" 


IV. 


"  Seldom,  -when  life  is  mature,  and  the  strength  proportioned  to  the 
burden, 

Will  the  feeling  mind,  that  can  remember,  acknowledge  to  deeper 
anguish 

Than  when,  as  a  stranger  and  a  little  one,  the  heart  first  ached  with 
anxiety 

And  the  sprouting  buds  of  sensibility  were  bruised  by  the  harsh- 
ness of  a  school." 

One  evening,  at  the  liomelj  fireside  at  The- 
gaste,  and  just  as  the  boy  had  been  put  to  bed, 
Patricius  was  sitting  in  one  of  his  tenderest 
moods,  talking  with  Monica  of  their  son's  fu- 
ture prospects. 

"We  must  send  him  to  school,"  said  the 
father,  winding  up  the  conversation  in  a  prac- 
tical form,  though  not  in  the  devoutest  frame  ; 
"  he  has  parts  that  will  get  him  on  in  the  world ; 
he  will  be  sure  to  make  a  figure.'' 

"  Yes,"  replied  Monica,  the  motherly  com- 
placency and  the  saintly  solicitude  struggling 

[40] 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  41 

for  the  mastery;  "I  hope  he  may  excel  in 
tongue-science  ;  but  oh  !  that  it -may  lead  him, 
in  some  way,  to  God  ! " 

To  school,  accordingly,  one  autumn  morn- 
ing, he  hied  with  a  look  sorely  downcast.  If 
Monica,  in  her  excessive  fondness,  had  hither- 
to— 

"  Stopp'd  with  indulgence  the  fountain  of  his  tears," 

that  peril,  at  least,  was  over  now.  "  O  God, 
my  God,"  he  wrote,  many  years  afterwards, 
looking  back  upon  this  era  of  his  life,  "  what 
miseries  and  mockeries  did  I  now  experience, 
when  obedience  to  my  teachers  was  proposed 
to  me  as  proper  in  a  boy,  in  order  that  in  this 
world  I  might  prosper  and  excel  in  tongue- 
science,  which  should  serve  to  the  'praise  of 
men'  and  to  deceitful  riches." 

"Custom,"  Bacon  says,  "is  the  principal 
magistrate  of  man's  life."  In  the  school,  poor 
Aurelius  found  to  his  horror,  a  "custom" 
which  he  describes  thus : — "  I  was  to  get  learn- 
ing, in  which  I  (poor  v^^etch)  knew  not  Avhat 
use  there  was ;  and  yet.  if  idle  in  learning,  I 
was  beaten.  For,  this  was  judged  right  by  our 
4-^ 


42  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

forefathers ;  and  many,  passing  the  same  course 
before  us,  framed  for  us  weary  paths  through 
which  we  wers  fain  to  pass,  muhiplying  toil 
and  grief  upon  the  sons  of  Adam."  He  "  loved 
not  study,"  and  "hated  to  be  forced  to  it;" 
yet  he  "  was  forced." 

And  the  worst  of  all  was,  "  his  elders,  yea, 
his  very  parents,  who  yet  wished  him  no  ill," 
would  "  mock  his  stripes,  his  then  great  and 
grievous  ill."  Even  Monica — such  was  the 
"tyrant-power  of  custom" — had  no  relentings 
at  the  "wrenching"  of  her  boy's  "young 
heart's  fibres." 

One  heart,  the  boy  had  heard,  was  not 
steeled.  "  Lord,"  says  he,  "  we  found  that 
men  called  upon  Thee ;  and  we  learned  from 
them  to  think  of  Thee  (according  to  our  pow- 
ers) as  of  some  great  One  who,  though  hidden 
from  our  senses,  couldst  hear  and  help  us. 
And  so  I  began  to  pray  to  Thee,  my  aid  and 
refuge, — and  broke  again  the  fetters  of  my 
tongue  to  call  on  Thee,  praying  Thee — though 
small,  yet  with  no  small  earnestness — that  I 
might  not  be  beaten  at  school."  His  prayer, 
however,  was  "not  heard;  "  and,  in  after-years, 


MEMOIR  OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE.  43 

he  blessed  the  Lord  that  He  "  did  not  thereby 
give  him  over  to  folly." 

The  urchin's  "  sole  dehght  "  was  "  play." 

"  Unbutton'd,  glowing  hot," 
His  joy  .  .  "  to  kneel  and  draw 
The  chalky  ring,  and  knuckle  down  at  taw , 
To  pitch  the  ball  into  the  rounded  hat, 
Or  drive  it  devious  with  a  dextrous  pat." 

And  for  this — poor  boy !  he  was  "  punished  by 
those  who  yet  themselves  were  doing  the  like." 
But  ''  elder  folks'  idleness,"  says  he,  ''  is  called 
'  business ' ;  that  of  boys  being  really  the  same, 
is  punished  by  those  elders.  He  who  beat  me 
was,  if  worsted  in  some  trifling  discussion  with 
his  fellow-tutor,  more  embittered  and  jealous 
than  I  when  beaten  at  ball  by  a  play -fellow." 

And  another  apology  he  found  for  his  boy- 
ish idleness : — "  I  loved  the  pride  of  victory  in 
my  contests,  and  to  have  my  ears  tickled  with 
lying  fables,  that  they  might  itch  the  more, — 
the  same  curiosity  flashing  from  my  eyes,  more 
and  more,  for  the  shows  and  games  of  my 
elders.  Yet  those  who  give  these  shows,"  he 
proceeds,  "  are  in  such  esteem,  that  almost  all 


44  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

wish  the  same  for  their  children,  and  yet  are 
very  willing  that  they  should  be  beaten  if 
those  very  games  detain  them  from  the  studies 
whereby  they  would  have  them  attain  to  be 
givers  of  them."  And  he  adds  : — "  Look  with 
pity,  Lord,  on  these  things." 

Poor  wight !  how  his  soul  was  haunted  by 
that  terrific  spectre  of  the  birch  1 

"  How  sorrow  sat  upon  his  pillow,  and  terror  woke  bim 
up  betimes ! " 

"  Is  there,  Lord,"  we  find  him  exclaiming,  long 
afterwards,  as  the  unquieted  ghost  rose  up  be- 
fore him  in  all  its  old  grimness,  "  any  of  soul 
so  great,  and  cleaving  to  Thee  with  so  intense 
affection,  that  he  can  think  as  lightly  of  the 
racks  and  boots  and  other  torments,  against 
which,  throughout  all  lands,  men  call  on  Thee 
with  extreme  dread,  and  can  smile  at  those  by 
whom  they  are  feared  most  bitterly,  as  our  pa- 
rents smiled  at  the  torments  which  we  suffered 
in  boyhood  from  our  masters  ?  For  we  feared 
not  our  torments  the  less  ;  nor  prayed  we  less 
to  Thee,  to  escape  them." 

Bitterly,  however,  in  after-days,  did  lie  la- 


MEMOIR  OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE.  45 

merit  this  "  sowing  of  wild  oats."  "  I  sinned 
herein,"  he  writes,  '*  0  Lord  God,  the  Creator 
and  Disposer  of  all  things  in  nature,  I  sinned 
in  transgressing  the  commands  of  my  parents 
and  of  those  my  masters.  For,  what  they,  with 
whatever  motive,  would  have  me  learn,  I  might 
afterward  have  put  to  good  use.  I  sinned  in 
writing  or  reading  or  studying  less  than  was 
exacted  of  me.  For  I  wanted  not,  0  Lord, 
memory  or  capacity,  whereof  Thy  will  gave 
enough  for  my  age." 


"  How  weak  the  barrier  of  mere  nature  proves, 
Opposed  against  the  pleasure  nature  loves  I 
While  self-betray'd,  and  wilfully  undone, 
She  longs  to  yield,  no  sooner  woo'd  than  won." 

*'  Oh  !  that  I  miglit  repose  on  Thee  !  "  Au- 
gustine wrote,  one  day.  "Oh  I  that  Thou 
wouldst  enter  into  my  heart,  and  inebriate  it, 
that  I  might  forget  my  ills,  and  embrace  Thee, 
my  sole  good !  "  But  a  dark,  dark  night  was 
yet  to  be  traversed,before  he  could  even  breathe 
this  longing. 

We  enter  the  school  again.      There  he  is, — 
still  a  prisoner  on  that  bench  I     How  it  is 

"  Mangled,  hack'd,  and  hew'd,  not  yet  destroy'd." 

And  how  he  "  hates  the  Greek !"      And — the 
"reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic,"  he  "thinks 
as  great  a  penalty  as  any  Greek."     The  "  Lat- 
ere] 


MEMOIR  OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  47 

in  "  lie  "  loved ;"  not  the  elements,  however, 
but  "what  the  so-called"  grammarians  "taught" 
him.  He  "learned  the  wanderings  of  one  ^neas, 
forgetful  of  his  own  ;"  and  he  "  wept  for  dead 
Dido,  because  she  killed  herself  for  love, — the 
while,  with  dry  eyes,  enduring  his  miserable 
self-dying  among  tliese  things,  far  from  Him 
who  was  his  life."  And  thus  his  "  curious 
spirit"  was 

"  Crarara'd  with  unwholesome  gaiioage, 
"While  starving  for  the  mother's  milk  the  breasts  of  nature 

yield ; 
And  high-color'd  fables  of  depravity  lured  with  their  classic 

varnish, 
While  truth  was  holding  out  in  vain  her  mirror  much  des- 


Foster  describes  "glory"  as  "  vanity  turned 
into  a  god," — having  this  one  advantage  over 
every  other,  that  it  makes  msLnhvnsel/the  idol. 
"This,"  says  he,  "is  the  adored  object  for 
which  so  many  souls  are  feverishly  panting  I 
This  is  what  calls  out  the  energy  of  all  the 
faculties, — what  poets  and  orators,  and  the 
world's  other  oracles,  have  been  extolling 
through  all  ages  I     This  is  what  absorbs  the 


48  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

devotion  due  to  God!  this  is  wliat  myriads 
have  been  willing  to  lose  their  souls  to  obtain  !" 
In  letters  of  living  fire  that  phantasm  was  now 
engraven  on  the  youthful  learner's  heart. 

One  clay  "  a  task  was  set  upon  him — ^upon 
terms  of  praise,  or  of  shame  and  stripes  " — to 
"  speak  the  words  of  Juno  (words,  he  had  heard, 
she  never  uttered)  as  she  raged  and  mourned 
that  she  could  not 

'  This  Trojan  prince  from  Latium  turn.'  " 

The  boy  was  roused  to  an  unwonted  effort ; 
and  as  he  was  pronounced  the  victor,  the  walls 
rang  again.     It  was 

"  Tlie  fire-damp  gathering  in  the  mine, 
The  soul  svrelling  with  poisonous  air,  which  a  spark  of  temp- 
tation might  explode." 

"  What  is  it  to  me,"  he  wrote  long  after 
wards,  "  0  my  true  life,  my  God,  that  my  dec- 
lamation was  applauded  above  so  many  of  my 
own  age  and  class  ?  is  not  all  this  smoke  and 
wind  ?  And  was  there  nothing  else  whereon 
to  exercise  my  wit  and  tongue  ?  Thy  praises, 
Lord,  Thy  praises  might  have  stayed  the  yet 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  49 

tender  slioot  of  my  heart  by  the  prop  of  Thy 
Scriptures.  I  read  of  Jove  the  thunderer  and 
the  adulterer — a  divine  nature  ascribed  to 
wicked  men,  that  crimes  might  be  no  longer 
crimes,  and  that  those  who  committed  them 
might  seem  to  imitate  not  abandoned  men  but 
the  celestial  gods.  And,  O  my  God,  all  this 
unhappily  I  learned  willingly,  with  great  de- 
light, and,  for  this  was  pronounced  a  hopeful 
boy." 

Destined  by  his  parents  to  be  a  "teacher  of 
oratory" — a  profession  of  great  dignity  and 
influence  in  those  days, — he  now  removed  to 
the  "  neighbour  city"  of  Madaura.  He  was  in 
his  fifteenth  year ;  and  most  affecting  is  the 
picture  which  he  gives  of  his  "  foulness  and 
corruption."  "  With  innumerable  lies  he  would 
deceive  his  tutors,  his  masters,  his  parents," 
from  "  eagerness  to  see  vain  shows  and  from 
restlessness  to  imitate  them."  So  "enslaved" 
Avas  he,  too,  by  "greediness,"  or  "that  he  might 
have  to  give  to  boys  who  sold  him  their  play," 
that  he  would  "commit  thefts  from  his  parents' 
cellar  and  table."  Fierce  passions  also  "  boiled" 
within  him,  "sinking  him  in  a  gulf  of  flagi- 
5 


50'  MEilOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

tionsness."  And  conscience  had  ceased  to  ut- 
ter her  protests.  "  I  was  grown  deaf,"  says 
he,  "by  the  clanking  of  the  chain  of  my  mor- 
tality, the  punishment  of  the  pride  of  my  soul ; 
and  I  strayed  farther  from  Thee,  and  Thou  let- 
tedst  me  alone,  and  I  Avas  tossed  about,  and 
wasted  and  dissipated,  and  I  boiled  over  in  my 
fornications,  and  Thoa  heldest  Thy  peace,  O 
Thou  my  tardy  joy  !  Thou  then  heldest  Thy 
peace ;  and  I  wandered  further  and  further 
from  Thee,  into  more  and  more  fruitless  seed- 
plots  of  sorrows,  with  a  proud  dejectedness  and 
a  restless  weariness !" 

Meanwhile,  Patricius  Augustine  was  still  a 
pagan ;  but  Monica  prayed  on.  Another  year 
was  to  finish  his  course  on  earth ;  but,  before 
passing  into  eternity,  he  was  to  pass  from  death 
to  life.  Monica  could  wait ;  and  long  she  had 
waited  :  but,  like  her  prototype  of  "  the  bor- 
ders of  Tyre  andSidon,"  she  was  one  Avho  could 
take  no  denial.  "  Through  the  witness  of  the 
fruits  of  a  holy  conversation,"  lie  at  last  was 
drawn  after  Him  whom  she  loved  so  well. 
''  Towards  the  very  end  of  his  earthly  life," 
says  Aurelius,  "did  she  gain  him  unto  Thee  : 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  51 

nor  had  she  to  complain  of  that  in  him,  as  a 
believer,  which,  before  he  was  a  believer,  she 
had  borne  from  him." 

The  student  vias  at  home  again,  passing  "  a 
season  of  idleness,  occasioned  by  the  narrow- 
ness of  his  parents'  fortunes."  It  was  his  six- 
teenth year ;  and,  chough  his  God  was  "merci- 
fully rigorous"  to  him,  besprinkling  with  most 
bitter  alloy  all  his  unlawful  pleasures,  "  that 
he  might  seek  pleasure  without  alloy" — he 
"foamed"  more  than  ever,  "like  a  troubled 
sea,  following  the  rushing  of  his  own  tide — 
forsaking  God,  and  exceeding  all  God's  lim- 
its." 

Monica  wept  and  trembled.  Year  by  year 
— almost  month  by  month — her  counsels  and 
her  entreaties  seemed  to  tell  less  feebly  on  her 
bo}^     Like  some  coral  island, 

"Fresh  from  the  floor  of  the  Atlantic, 
Dinted  by  everj  ripple,  aud  a  sofl  wave  smoothing  its 

surface. 
But  soon  its  substance  hardening  in  the  winds  and 

tropic  sun, 
And  weakly  the  foaming  billows  breaking  against  its 

adamantine  wall," — 


52  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

Aurelius  seemed  hardening  into  an  "obduracy 
of  vileness"  almost  bej^ond  the  reach  of  hope. 
"  Behold,"  says  he,  "  with  what  companions  I 
walked  the  streets  of  Babylon,  and  wallowed 
in  the  mire  thereof,  as  if  in  a  bed  of  spices  and 
precious  ointments  !  And,  that  I  might  cleave 
the  faster  to  its  very  centre,  the  invisible  enemy 
trod  me  down,  and  seduced  me,  for  I  was  easy 
to  be  seduced."  Monica  would  warn  him  "in 
private,  and  with  great  anxiety,"  against  "  those 
crooked  ways  in  which  they  walk  who  turn 
their  back  to  God  and  not  the  face."  But 
"  the  briers  of  unclean  desires  grew  only  more 
rank  over  his  head."  His  mother's  words  were 
"womanish  advices,"  which  he  should  "blush 
to  obey." 

It  was  "God  himself  speaking  to  him  by 
her,"  though  he  "knew  it  not." 

But  even  then  he  was  not  let  quite  alone. 
"Dare  I  say,"  he  writes,  "that  Thou  heldest 
Thy  peace,  0  my  God,  while  I  wandered  fur- 
ther from  Thee?  Didst  Thou  then  indeed  hold 
Thy  peace  to  me  ?  And  whose  but  Thine 
were  those  words  which  by  my  mother.  Thy 
faithful  one,  Thou  sangestin  my  ears — nothing 


MEMOIi:   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  53 

whereof  sank  into  my  heart  so  as  to  do  it  ?  I 
thought  Thou  wert  silent,  and  that  it  was  she 
who  spake  ;  by  whoni  Thou  wert  not  silent 
unto  me,  but  in  her  was  despised  by  me  her 
son,  '  the  son  of  Thy  hand-maid.  Thy  servant.' 
I  sank  away  from  Thee,  cind  I  wandered,  O  my 
God,  too  much  astray  from*  Thee,  my  stay ; 
and  I  became  a  barren  land." 


5* 


VI. 

*'  Man,  on  the  dubious  waves  of  error  tossed, 
His  ship  half  foundered,  and  his  compass  lost, 
Sees,  far  as  human  optics  may  command, 
A  sleeping  fog,  and  fancies  it  dry  land." 

It  was  a  beautiful  summer  evening,  and  the 
sun  was  setting  with  a  cahn  lustre  peculiar  to 
a  Mediterranean  sky,  when,  on  the  Corso  of 
Carthage,  might  be  seen  a  gay  crowd,  flitting 
along 

"  Like  some  fairy  skifif,  plying  on  the  sea  of  life. " 

An  hour  or  two  passed;  and  the  capacious 
theatre  was  re-echoing  to  the  huzzas  of  a 
countless  multitude,  mad  with  impure  excite- 
ment and  with  "  the  hell  of  lustfulness."  The 
night  orgies  over,  and  the  next  sun  scarce 
risen,  there  were  pacing  the  halls  of  the  rheto- 
ricians' school  certain  of  the  most  prominent 
idlers  of  the  Corso  and  of  the  Circus,  "  learning 
[54] 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINl!:.  o5 

eloquence,"  to  "  excel  in  the  courts  of  litiga. 
tion,"  and  "desiring  to  be  eminent,  out  of  a 
damnable  and  vain-glorious  end — a  joy  in  hu- 
man vanity."  One  of  these  was  Aurelius,  now 
entering  his  seventeenth  year,  and  a  student  in 
his  last  term.* 

The  fashion  in  the  schools  was  to  set  the 
youths 

"  A-tilting  with  their  fellows," 

"confounding"  true  philosophy  "in  a  laby- 
rinth of  words."  In  this  logomachy  the  stu- 
dent of  Thegaste  was  soon  the  acknowledged 
"chief," — whereat  he  "joyed  proudly"  and 
"  swelled  with  arrogancy." 

But  he  had  not  been  in  Carthage  many 
weeks,  when  "there  sang  all  around  him  in 
his  ears  a  cauldron  of  unholy  loves."  He 
"loved  not  yet;  "  but,  "  in  love  with  loving," 
he  "  sought  what  he  might  love."  "  Safetv  " 
he  hated,  and  "  a  way  without  snares."  His 
"  soul,  sickly  and  full  of  sor-??,"  longed  to  be 

*"By  his  resolution,"  says  Aug-ustine,  "rather  than  by 
his  means,  my  father  furnished  me  with  all  necessaries  for 
going  to  Carthage  for  my  studies'  sake." 


66  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

"  scraped  by  tlie  touch  of  the  objects  of  sense ; " 
and  so,  ere  long,  "  defiling  the  spring  of  friend- 
ship with  the  filth  of  concupiscence,"  he  "fell 
headlong^  into  the  love  in  which  he  desired  to 
be  ensnared."  Another  of  his  '^  fleshly  de- 
lights" was  "stage-plays."  "Full  of  images 
of  his  miseries  and  of  fuel  to  his  fire,"  they 
yet  moved  so  intensely  his  sorrow,  that  "this 
very  sori'ow  was  his  pleasure ;  "  and,  night 
after  night,  he  "stayed  intent,  and  wept  for 
joy."  Himself  "miserable,"  he  "loved  to 
grieve,  and  sought  out  what  to  grieve  at," — 
that  "acting  best  pleasing  him,  and  attracting 
him  the  most  vehemently,  which  drew  from 
him  most  tears." 

It  was  whilst  thus  "  wandering  with  a  stiff 
neck,"  and  "loving  a  vagrant  libert}^,"  that 
that  "faithful  mercy,"  which  had  "hovered 
over  him  from  afor,"  sped  from  its  quiver  the 
first  awakening  arrow.  One  day,  "in  the  or- 
dinary course  of  study,"  he  "fell  upon  a  cer- 
tain book  of  Cicero,  containing  an  exhortation 
to  philosophy."  As  yet,  "apostolic  scripture 
was  not  known"  to  him;  but  "Ilortensius" 
discoursed  so  wisely  concerning  the  vanity  of 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  57 

the  prevailing  fashion  of  the  schools,  that  he 
was  "strongly  roused  and  kindled  and  inflamed 
to  love  and  seek  and  obtain  and  hold  and  em- 
brace, not  this  or  that  sect,  but  wisdom  itself, 
whatever  it  might  be."  Every  "vain  hope" 
at  once  became  worthless  to  him ;  and  he 
"  longed  with  an  incredibly  burning  desire  for 
an  immortality  of  wisdom." 

The  book  "altered  his  whole  affections, 
making  him  other  purposes  and  desires." 
"Not  to  sharpen  my  tongue,"  says  he,  "did  I 
employ  that  book ;  nor  did  it  infuse  into  me 
its  stylC;  but  its  matter. 

But  one  thing  "  checked  him  thus  enkin- 
dled." "The  name  of  Christ,"  he  thought 
within  himself,  one  day,  "is  not  in  it."  For, 
though  up  to  that  hour  the  precious  name  had 
had  no  place  as  a  power  in  his  conscience  or 
in  his  heart,  it  had  been  "  so  drunk  in  with  his 
mother's  milk,"  and  so  "deeply  treasured," 
that  "  whatever  was  without  it,  though  never 
so  learned,  polishecj,  or  true,  took  not  entire 
hold  of  him."  But  "now,"  says  he,  "I  began 
to  arise  that  I  might  return  to  Thee.  How  did 
I  burn,  my  Clod,  how  did  I  burn  to  remount 


58  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

Irom  earthly  things  to  Thee !  nor  knew  I  what 
Thou  woulclst  do  with  me.  For  with  Thee  is 
Avisdom." 

The  "poor  freeman  of  Thegaste "  was 
seized  that  autumn  with  a  sudden  ilhiess ;  and 
Aurelius  hastened  home.  lie  arrived  to  find 
his  worst  fears  realized;  for  Patricius  had 
"fallen  asleep,"  and  Monica  was  a  widow. 
The  stroke  came  at  a  moment  not  inopportune ; 
and,  under  it,  Monica  demeaned  herself  so 
calmly,  and  found  in  the  Word  a  balm  so  sol- 
acing, that  the  student  returned  to  Carthage, 
"  resolved  to  bend  his  mind  to  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures, that  he  might  see  what  they  were.'' 

But  as  yet  he  Avent  to  the  Scriptures  only  to 
"  see  in  them  a  certain  meanness,  unworthy  to 
be  compared  with  the  stateliness  of  Tully ; " 
and  his  "swelling  pride"  shrank  from  their 
lowliness,  nor  could  his  "sharp  wit  pierce  the 
interior  thereof."  The  Bible,  and  its  simple 
message  of  grace,  is  "  a  thing  not  understood 
by  the  proud,  but  laid  open  to  children" — • 
lowly  in  access — 'in  its  recesses  lofty,  and 
veiled  with  mysteries;"  and  he  was  "not  such 
as  enter  it,  or  to  stoop  his  neck  to  follow  its 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  59 

steps."  "Its  mysteries  are  such,"  says  he,  "as 
grow  up  in  a  little  one  ;  but  I  disdained  to  be 
a  little  one, — being  swollen  with  pride,  and 
taking  myself  to  be  a  great  one." 

Aurelius  had  come  within  sight  of  the  ha- 
ven ;  but  the  time  of  entrance  and  of  rest  was 
not  yet. 


VII. 

"  Like  quicksilver,  the  rhetoric  they  display, 
Shines  as  it  runs,  but,  grasp'd  at,  shps  away." 

A  CENTURY  before,  from  a  cave  in  Turkistan, 
there  had  issued  a  strange  pretender,  claiming 
to.  have  been  miraculously  born  of  a  virgin, 
and  to  have  received  from  heaven,  during  his 
mysterious  retirement,  certain  special  revela- 
tions. Buddha,  Zoroaster,  the  Christ,  had  been, 
each  in  their  turn,  the  manifested  God;  and 
Manx  himself  was  no  other  than  the  promised 
"  Paraclete,"  whose  mission  was  to  restore  the 
Church  by  '^leading  into  all  truth,"  by  solving 
all  problems,  by  initiating  into  all  mysteries 
all  who  yearned  after  knowledge. 

Spirit  and  matter  (said  this  deceiver,  fiishion- 
ing  with  his  plastic  hand  into  one  uncouth 
medley  the  Christian  doctrine  and  the  old  re- 
ligions of  Asia,)  are  essentially  antagonistic ; 
[60] 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  61 

their  union  gradually  benumbing  "sjoirit"  into 
unconsciousness.  To  the  ordinary  human  in- 
carnations of  spirit,  the  only  method  of  release 
is  a  process  of  self-crucifying  purification,  fol- 
lowed by  an  ultimate  absorption  into  the  primal 
Spirit.  Buddha,  Zoroaster,  the  Christ,  and 
Mani,  rising  superior  to  the  coLstraining  bonds 
of  matter,  have  wrought  out  redemption  for 
the  souls  which  otherwise  were  hopelessly  im- 
prisoned. For  sin,  indeed,  and  for  atonement, 
Manicheism  found  no  place,  evil  being  a  mere 
accident  resulting  from  the  creature's  temporary 
bondage  to  matter ;  but  it  spoke  of  a  Christ 
"  crucified  in  every  soul," — a  suffering  "  son  of 
man"  hanging  upon  every  tree, — the  entire 
world  as  one  vast  cross,  on  which  spirit  was 
suffering  crucifixion  at  the  hands  of  implacable 
matter. 

The  student  of  Carthage  was  now  thrown 
among  these  ''  talkers."  Inwardly,  in  the  mar- 
row of  his  soul,  panting  after  truth  and  after 
Him  who  is  the  truth,  he  had  ''  served  up  "  to 
him  these  "  glittering  phantasies ;  and,  because 
he  "thought  them  to  be  God,"  he  "fed  thereon." 
"  I  fell,"  says  he,  "  among  men  proudly  doting, 
6 


62  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

exceeding  carnal  and  prating ;  in  whose  moutlis 
were  the  snares  of  the  devil,  limed  with  the 
mixture  of  the  syllables  of  Thy  name,  and  of 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
the  Paraclete  our  Comforter.  These  names 
departed  not  out  of  their  mouth;  but  so  far 
forth  as  the  sound  only  and  the  noise  of  the 
tongue,  for  the  heart  was  void  of  truth.  Yet 
they  cried  out,  'Truth!  Truth!'  and  spake 
much  thereof  to  me ;  but  it  '  was  not  in  them.'  " 
Poor  Aurelius!  how  he  was  buffeted  and 
tossed — the  sport  of  every  charlatan,  the  slave 
of  every  passion  ! 

"Lime  begg'd  of  old,  tliey  say, 
A  neighbor  spring  to  cool  bis  inward  heat, 
Which,  b}'-  the  spring's  access,  grew  much  more  great." 

Such  Avas  Augustine.  "  Thou,"  says  he,  "  wast 
not  these  emptinesses ;  nor  was  I  nourished  by 
them,  but  exhausted  rather.  Food  in  sleep 
looks  very  like  our  food  awake ;  yet  are  not 
those  asleep  nourished  by  it,  for  they  are 
asleep."  And  he  adds  :• — "  How  much  better 
are  the  fables  of  poets  and  grammarians  than 
these  snares!     For,  'Medea  flying,'  though  I 


MEMOIR   OF    ST.   AUGTSTINE.  63 

did  sing,  I  believed  not ;  but  these  things  I  did 
believe.  AYoe,  woe !  by  what  steps  was  I 
brought  down  to  '  the  depths  of  hell ! '  toiling 
and  turmoiling  through  want  of  truth  !  " 

But  one  heart  was  not  daunted, — "hoping 
against  hope." 

"  By  faith  valiant  for  her  son." 

Monica  "  saw  herself  standing,"  one  night,  "  on 
a  certain  wooden  rale,"  when  "  a  shining  one 
came  towards  her  clieerful  and  smiling,"  her- 
self "  grieving  and  overwhelmed  with  grief" 
"Why  weepest  thou?"  tenderly  inquired  the 
mysterious  visitor.  "  Oh  !  my  Aurelius  ! "  sob- 
bed the  mother;  "my  heart  breaks  for  him." 
"  Look ! "  said  the  stranger ;  and,  glancing  in 
the  direction  to  which  he  pointed,  she  saw  her 
son  "  standing  by  her  in  the  same  rule."  "  Be 
content  and  of  good  courage!"  he  added, 
"  where  thou  art,  there  he  is  also."  And 
Monica  awoke. 

The  mother,  overjoyed,  hastened  to  her  son, 
and  narrated  the  dream.  "Ah!"  said  Aure- 
lius, "  it  means  rather  that  3^ou  should  not  de- 
spair of  being  one  day  what  I  am."     "No," 


64  MEMOIK   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINi:. 

replied  Monica  promptly;  "it  was  not  told 
me  that  'where  he,  there  thou  also,'  but '  where 
thou,  there  he  also.'  "  "  I  confess  to  Thee,  O 
Lord,"  Augustine  wrote,  long  afterwards,  re- 
calling the  incident,  "  that,  to  the  best  of  mj 
remembrance  (and  I  have  oft  spoken  of  this), 
Thy  answ^er  through  my  waking  mother — that 
she  was  not  perplexed  by  the  plausibility  of 
my  false  interpretation,  and  so  quickly  saw 
what  was  to  be  seen,  and  which  I  certainly 
had  not  perceived  before  she  spake — even  then 
moved  me  more  than  the  dream  itself,  by 
which  a  joy  to  the  holy  woman,  to  be  fulfilled 
so  long  after,  was,  for  the  consolation  of  her 
present  anguish,  so  long  before  fore-signified." 
And,  at  a  later  period,  he  added : — "  Whence 
was  it  but  that  Thine  ears  were  towards  her 
heart,  O  Thou  Good  Omnipotent^  who  so  ever 
carest  for  every  one  of  us  as  if  Thou  carcdst 
for  him  onl}^,  and  so  for  all  as  if  they  were 
but  one  ?" 

Another  day,  Monica  '■  knocked  at  the  door 
of  a  certain  bishop,  brought  up  in  Tliy  Church, 
and  well  studied  in  Thy  books."  Known  and 
honoured  as  one  of  the  Lord's  tine  sliepherds 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTII>rE.  65 

who  yearned  over  the  lost  and  the  wandering, 
— Monica  had  come  to  him  to  engage  his  kind 
offices  on  behalf  of  her  son.  "  Do  speak  to 
him,"  she  said,  as  she  stood  in  his  humble 
apartment,  the  tears  "  streaming  down  her 
care-worn  cheek:"  "imteach  him  ill  things, 
and  teach  him  good  things ;  for  he  is  led  cap- 
tive by  the  devil  at  his  will."  "  No,"  replied 
the  bishop,  kindly ;  "  let  him  alone  a  while  ; 
he  is  not  teachable  yet,  he  is  puffed  up  Avith 
vain  notions."  "  But  what,"  rejoined  Monica, 
"Khe  be  taken  away  in  his  sins?"  "Wo 
must  wait,"  said  the  bishop  gravely ;  "  my 
own  mother  was  once  seduced  by  the  same 
impiety,  and  handed  me  over  to  these  people. 
I  read  all  their  books,  and  frequently  copied 
out  almost  all  of  them.  But,  without  any 
argument  or  proof  from  any  one,  I  was  de- 
livered from  that  snare  of  the  devil.  There- 
fore wait,  and  pray  to  God  for  him."  "But 
wdll  you  not  see  him  ?"  she  again  asked,  with 
many  tears.  "Wait,  I  say,  wait,"  was  the 
reply;  "w^ait  patiently:  the  son  of  these  tears 
cannot  perish." 
For  nine  more  years  was  Aurelius  to  "wallow 
6* 


66  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTIXE. 

in  tlie  mire  of  that  deep  pit,  and  in  the  dark- 
ness of  falsehood,— often  assaying  to  rise,  but 
dashed  down  the  more  grievously.'  And,  all 
that  time,  did  the  "chaste,  godly,  and  sober 
widow — now  more  cheered  with  hope,  yet  no 
whit  relaxing  in  her  weeping  and  mourning" — 
continue,  "  at  all  hours  of  her  devotions," 
to  bewail  his  case  before  the  Lord.  "  Her 
prayers,"  says  he,  "  entered  into  Thy  presence; 
and  yet  Thou  sufferedst  me  to  be  involved  aud 
re-involved  in  that  darkness." 

In  those  years — "  from  his  nineteenth  to  his 
eight-and-twcntieth," — first  in  his  native  town, 
and  latterly  in  Carthage,  he  "taught  rhetoric." 
"  Overcome  by  cupidity,"  says  he,  "  I  made 
sale  of  a  loquacity  to  overcome  by.  Choosing 
honest  scholars  (as  they  were  accounted),  I, 
without  artifice,  taught  them  artifices,  to  be 
practised,  not  against  the  life  of  the  guiltless, 
though  sometimes  for  the  life  of  the  guilty." 

Ilis  ruling  passion  was,  to  "hunt  after  the 
emptiness  of  popular  praise,  down  even  to 
theatrical  applauses,  and  poetic  prizes,  and 
strifes  for  grassy  garlands,  and  the  follies  of 
shows."     One  day,  he  had  "settled  to  enter 


MEMOIll    CF   ST.    AUGL'SriNE.  67 

the  lists  for  a  theatrical  prize,"  when  a  wizzard 
asked  him  "  what  he  would  give  him  to  w^in?" 
The  wizzard  was  to  "sacrifice  some  living 
creatures  to  the  devils,  and,  by  these  honours, 
to  invite  them  to  favour  him."  The  "foul  mys- 
teries" he  did  not  consent  to, — but  "  not  out 
of  love  to  God."  Another  of  his  snares  was  "  a 
seduced  and  seducing  lust."  "  In  those  years," 
says  he,  "  I  had  one,  not  in  that  which  is  called 
lawful  marriage,  but  whom  I  had  found  out  in 
a  wayward  passion,  void  of  understanding : — 
Cow  per  unites : — 

"  Faults  in  the  life  breed  errors  in  the  brain, 
And  these  reciprocally  those  again  ; 
The  mind  and  conduct  mutually  imprint 
And  stamp  their  image  in  each  other's  mint ; 
Each,  sire  and  dam  of  an  infernal  race. 
Begetting  and  conceiving  all  that's  base." 

Augustine  in  those  3^ears  might  have  sat  for 
that  picture.  "These  things,"  he  wrote  after- 
wards, looking  back  upon  the  humiliating 
scene,  "  did  I  follow  and  practise  with  my 
friends,  deceived  by  me  and  with  me.  O  my 
God,  I  would  still  confess  to  Thee  mine  own 
shame  in  Thy  praise." 


VIII. 

"  My  God  !  what  is  a  heart  ?" 

"  Where  ?  "  it  has  been  asked,  concerning 
him  whose  "  bark  is  cut  from  the  anchorage 
of  God," 

"  Where  is  the  imposture  so  gross,  that  shall  not  entrap 
his  curiosity  ? 
"What  superstition   so  abject,  that  it   doth  not  blanch 
his  cheek  ?  " 

A  new  imposture  now  led  Aurelius  captive. 
"  Nativity-casters" — because  they  "  seemed  to 
use  no  sacrifice,  nor  to  pray  to  any  spirit  for 
tlieir  divinations" — he  "consulted  without 
scruple."     Instead  of 

"Counting  down  from  God's  goodwill,  and  melting 
every  riddle  into  Him," 

these  star-gazers  "said,   '  The  cause  of  thy  sin 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  69 

is  determined  in  heaven,'  and,  '  This  did  Yenus, 
or  Saturn,  or  Mars,' — that  man,  forsooth,  flesh 
and  blood,  and  proud  corruption,  might  be 
blameless,  whilst  the  Creator  and  Ordainer  of 
heaven  and  of  the  stars  was  to  bear  the  blame." 
The  folly  was  pleasing  to  the  rhetorician's  un- 
broken heart ;  and  lie  clung  to  it  with  "a  mad 
desire." 

One  afternoon,  some  months  before,  in  the 
crowded  Circus,  the  walls  had  rung  to  the 
echo,  as  a  graceful  youth  came  forward,  at  the 
close,  to  receive  from  the  hand  of  the  Eoman 
proconsul  the  "  agonistic  garland."  From  that 
hour  the  magistrate  and  the  prizeman  had  been 
sworn  friends.  "  A  wise  man  ;  very  skilful  in 
physic,  and  renowned  therein  ;  simple  in  his 
speech,  but  vivid,  lively  and  earnest," — he  had 
won  the  heart  of  Aurelius,  who  "  hung  assidu- 
ously and  fixedly"  on  his  lips.  "Gather- 
ing by  his  discourse"  that  he  was  "given  to 
the  books  of  the  nativity -casters,"  the  old  man 
"  kindly  and  fatherly  advised  him  to  cast  them 
away,  and  not  to  fruitlessly  bestow  upon  these 
vanities  a  care  and  diligence  necessary  for  use- 
ful things." 


70  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 


and  the  counsel  grated  upon  his  ear.  "I 
studied  the  art,"  said  the  proconsul^  an  evening 
or  two  afterwards,  "intending  to  make  it  my 
profession ;  and,  as  I  understood  Hippocrates, 
I  could  soon  have  understood  such  a  study  as 
this:  but  I  gave  it  over,  and  took  to  physic, 
because  I  found  it  utterly  false."  "  How,  then, 
replied  Augustine,  impatiently,  "can  many 
true  things  be  foretold  by  it  ?  "  Why,  chance," 
said  his  friend,  "  brings  this  about.  If  you 
open  the  pages,  of  a  poet  who  sings  of  some- 
thing wholly  different,  a  verse  will  oftentimes 
fall  out  wondrously  agreeable  to  the  present 
business :  why,  then,  out  of  the  soul  of  man, 
unconscious  of  what  takes  place  within  it,  may 
there  not  be  given  by  hap,  not  by  art,  an  an- 
swer corresponding  to  the  business  and  actions 
of  the  demander?"  "But,"  replied  Augus- 
tine, "  I  have  as  yet  found  no  certain  proof  that 
what  is  truly  foretold  of  these  people  was  the 
result  of  hap-hazard,  not  of  the  art  of  star- 
gazers."  "Thou  hast  rhetoric  to  maintain  tliy- 
selfby,"  urged  the  magistrate,  "so  that  thou 
folio  west  this  of  free  choice,  not  of  necessity  : 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  71 

the  more,  then,  ouo-htcst  thou  to  Give  me  credit 
herein,  Avho  laboured  to  acquire  it  so  perfectly 
as  to  get  my  living  by  it  alone." 

Augustine  was  not  moved.  "  Thus  much," 
he  writes,  in  his  Confessions,  referring  to  this 
stage  of  his  wanderings,  "  either  from  or 
througli  him.  Thou  conveyedst  to  me,  and 
tracedst  in  my  memory,  Avhat  I  might  thereaf- 
ter examine  for  myself  But,  at  that  time, 
neither  he,  nor  my  dearest  Nebridius — a  youth 
singularly  good,  and  of  a  holy  fear,  who  de- 
rided the  whole  body  of  divination — could 
persuade  me  to  cast  it  aside, — the  authority  of 
the  authors  swaying  me  yet  more."  It  was 
but  another  instance  of  Cowper's  apophthegm — 

*  Hear  the  just  law^the  judgment  of  the  skies — 
He  that  hates  truth  shall  bo  the  dupe  of  lies  ; 
And  he  that  will  be  cheated  to  the  last, 
Delusions  strong  as  hell  shall  bind  him  fast." 

The  delusions  were  not  yet  over.  One  day, 
at  Carthage,  "  a  book  of  Aristotle,  which  they 
called  the  Ten  Predicaments,"  fell  into  his 
hands  ;  and  he  "  read  and  understood  it  un- 
aided." A  great  celebrity  of  the  town,  "ac- 
counted learned,"    used  to    "mouth  the  name 


72  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

of  Aristotle  with  clieeks  bursting  witli  pride  ;" 
and  young  Aurelius  would  liang  "  on  the  very 
name,"  as  on  "  something  great  and  divine." 
The  book  appeared  to  him  to  "  speak  very 
clearly  of  substances,  such  as  '  man,'  and  of 
their  qualities,  as  the  figure  of  a  man,  of  what 
sort  it  is ;  and  stature,  how  many  feet  high  ; 
and  his  relationship,  whose  brother  he  is  ;  or 
where  placed  ;  or  when  born ;  or  whether  he 
stands  or  sits,  or  be  shod  or  armed,  or  does  or 
suffers  anything;  and  all  the  innumerable 
things  which  may  be  ranged  under  these  Nine 
Predicaments  of  which  the  above  are  speci- 
mens, or  under  that  chief  Predicament  of  Sub- 
stance." His  vanity,  too,  was  flattered,  when, 
"on  conferring  with  others  who  said  that  they 
scarcely  understood  the  book  with  the  help  of 
very  able  tutors  not  only  orally  explaining  it 
but  drawing  many  things  in  sand,"  he  found 
they  "  could  tell  no  more  of  it  than  he  had 
learned  reading  it  by  himself" 
But  he  lasted 

"  The  sweet  Circeau  cup," 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  73 

only  to  find  it  once  more  "a  blinding  spell." 
"  What,"  says  he,  "  did  all  this  further  me, 
seeing  it  even  hindered  me  ?  when  imagining 
that  whatever  is,  was  comprehended  under 
those  Ten  Predicaments,  I  essayed  in  such 
wise  to  understand,  0  my.  God,  Thy  wonderful 
and  unchangeable  Unity  also,  as  if  Thou  also 
hadst  been  subjected  to  Thine  own  greatness  and 
beauty.  But  it  was  falsehood  which  of  Thee 
I  conceived,  not  truth;  fictions  of  my  misery, 
not  the  realities  of  Thy  blessedness." 

A  new  experiment  was  tried.  All  the  books 
he  could  procure  "  on  the  so-called  liberal  arts," 
he  greedily  devoured,  "  delighting  in  whatever 
had  been  written  of  them,"  and,  "by  himself, 
without  much  difficulty  or  any  instructor,  un- 
derstanding them."  But  this,  too,  proved  only 
another  gilded  cheat.  "  I  knew  not,"  says  he, 
"  whence  came  all  which  therein  was  true  and 
certain ;  for  I  had  my  back  to  the  light,  and 
my  face  to  the  things  enlightened, — whence 
my  face,  with  which  I  discerned  the  things  en- 
lightened, itself  was  not  enlightened."  And, 
worse  than  all,  he  continued  "  the  vile  slave  of 
7 


74  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

vile  affections," — "  seduced  and  seducing,  de- 
ceived and  deceiving,  in  divers  lusts — openly, 
by  sciences  wliicli  they  call  liberal — secretly, 
with  a  Mse-named  religion — here  proud,  there 
superstitious,  everywhere  vain." 


IX. 

"  Come,  I  will  shew  theo  a  fricud— ouo  worthy  of  thy  trust  -. 
Thino  heart  shall  not  weary  of  him." 

"Fkiendship,"  it  lias  been  said,  "is  a  marvel 
among  men."  Such  a  frieiidsbip  Augustine's 
yearning  heart  cla.sped  to  itself  in  these  years. 
Of  his  own  age,  this  friend  ''  had  grown  up 
as  a  child  with  him" — had  been  his  schoolfellow 
and  playfellow;  and  both  had  reached,  together, 
"the  opening  flower  of.  j^outh."  "Ripened," 
too,  "by  the  warmth  of  kindred  studies,"  the 
attachment  grew  so  "sweet,"  that  "his  soul 
could  not  be  without  him."  Daily  they  would 
"talk  and  jest  together" — "do  kind  offices  by 
turns" — "read  together  honied  books," — "play 
the  fool  or  be  earnest  together" — "dissent  at 
times  without  discontent,  as  a  man  might  with 
his  own  self," — "seasoning,  even  with  the  sel- 
domness  of  these  dissentings,  their  more  fre- 
quent meetings." 

[75] 


76  MKMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

"  They  would  commune  of  hopes  and  asph'ations,  the 

fervent  breathings  of  the  heart ; 
They  vrould  speak  with  pleasant  interchange  the 

treasured  secrets  of  affection; 
They  would  listen  to  the  voice  of  complaint,  and 

whisper  the  language  of  comfort ; 
And,  as  in  a  double  solitude,  would  think  in  each 

other's  hearing." 

"These  and  the  like  expressions,"  says  Augus- 
tine, "proceeding,  out  of  hearts  which  love  and 
are  loved  again,  by  the  countenance,  the  tongue, 
the  eyes,  and  a  thousand  pleasing  gestures, 
were  so  much  fuel  to  melt  our  souls  together, 
and  out  of  two  to  make  but  one." 

Alas!  in  another  thing,  also,  the  kindred 
spirits  were  "  but  one."  "  From  the  true  faith," 
Augustine  writes,  "(which  he,  as  a  youth,  had 
not  soundly  and  thoroughly  imbibed),  I  warped 
him  to  these  superstitions  and  pernicious  fables, 
for  which  my  mother  bewailed  me.  AYith  me 
he  now  erred  in  mind." 

Suddenly  seized  with  "a  sore  fever,"  his 
friend  lay,  one  night,  "senseless,  in  a  death- 
sweat."  After  a  few  days,  he  was  unexpectedly 
raised  up ;  and  scarcely  was  he  "able  to  speak," 
when  he  found  Aurelius  (who  "had  never  left 


MEMOIR    OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  77 

him,"  for  they  "hung  but  too  much  upon  each 
other ')  at  his  bedside,  "jesting  with  him,"  and 
merry -hearted,  "fancying  his  soul  still  loved 
the  emptinesses  which  before  had  charmed 
them."  But,  instead  of  the  old  smile,  the 
invalid  "so  shrank  from  him  as  from  an 
enemy;"  and,  "with  a  wonderful  and  sudden 
freedom,"  he  "bade  him,  as  he  would  continue 
his  friend,  to  forbear  such  language  to  him." 
"All  astonished  and  amazed,"  Augustine  "sup- 
pressed his  emotions,"  till  his  friend  should  be 
grown  well,  and  his  health  be  strong  enough 
for  him  to  deal  with  him.  But  the  young 
Thegastian  had  found  the  "pearl  of  great 
price."  A  few  days  later,  in  Aurelius'  absence, 
he  was  "attacked  again  by  the  fever,"  and 
"so  departed." 

"These  are  thy  wouders,  Lord  of  power  1 
Killing,  and  quick'ning ;  bringing  down  to  hell, 
And  up  to  heav'n,  in  an  hour." 

Poor  Augustine!  how  he  wept!  "Sweet  to 
him  above  all  sweetness  of  that  his  life,"  his 
"  lost  one"  seemed  to  have  taken  with  him  into 
yonder  cold   tomb  his  other  self     "At  this 

7* 


78  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

grief,"  says  he,  "  my  heart  was  utterly  darken- 
ed; and  whatever  I  beheld  was  death.  What- 
ever I  had  shared  withhhn,  was  now — wanting 
him — become  a  distracting  torture.  Mine  eyes 
sought  him  every\vhere,  but  he  was  not  granted 
them;  and  I  hated  all  places,  for  that  they 
had  not  him;  nor  could  they  now  tell  me, 
*He  is  coming,'  as  when  he  was  alive,  and 
absent.  I  neither  hoped  he  should  return  to 
life,  nor  did  I  desire  this  with  my  tears ;  but  I 
wept  only  and  grieved,  for  I  was  miserable, 
and  had  lost  my  joy." 

It  was  a  stunning  stroke  to  him.  Weeping 
as  if  he  would  weep  out  his  eyes,  he  seemed  to 
exclaim — 

"Oh!  who  will  give  me  tears?     Come,  all  ye  springs, 
Dwell  in  my  head  and  eyes.     Come  clouds  and  rain  I 
I've  need  of  all  the  watery  things 
That  Nature  hath  produced.     Let  ev'ry  vein 
Suck  up  a  river,  to  supply  mine  eyes, 
My  weary,  weeping  eyes ;  too  dry  for  me, 
Unless  they  get  new  conduits,  new  supplies, 
To  bear  them  out,  and  with  my  state  agree." 

His  torn  heart  found  only  "  tears  sweet ;"  for 
they  "succeeded  his  friend  in  the  dearest  of 


MEMOIK   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  79 

his  affections."  "I  bore  about,"  says  he,  "a 
shattered  and  bleeding  soul,  impatient  of  being 
borne  by  me ;  yet,  where  to  repose  it,  I  found 
not.  Not  ia  calm  groves,  not  in  games  and 
music,  nor  in  fragrant  spots,  nor  in  curious 
banquetings,  nor  in  the  pleasures  of  the  bed 
and  of  the  couch ;  nor,  finally,  in  books  of 
poesy — found  it  repose.  All  things  looked 
ghastly,  yea,  the  very  light ;  whatever  was  not 
what  he  was,  was  revolting  and  hateful,  except 
gToaning  and  tears.  For  in  these  alone  found 
I  a  little  refreshment.  But,  when  my  soul  was 
withdrawn  from  them,  a  huge  load  of  misery 
weighed  me  down..  I  wondered,"  he  adds, 
"that  others,  subject  to  death,  did  live, — since 
he,  whom  I  loved  as  if  he  should  never  die, 
w^as  dead.  And  I  wondered  yet  more,  that 
myself,  who  was  to  him  a  second  self,  could 
live,  he  being  dead.  Well  said  one  of  his 
friends,  '  Thou  half  of  my  soul !'  for  I  felt  that 
my  soul  and  his  soul  were  '  one  soul  in  two 
bodies;'  and  therefore  was  my  life  a  horror  to 
me,  because  I  would  not  live  halved." 

In  these  hours   of  deep   agony,  he  would 
whisper   to  his   disquieted   spirit,    "Trust   in 


80  MEMOIR    OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

God !"  But  "  she  obeyed  him  not ;"  and  "  very 
rightly," — for  "that  most  dear  friend  whom 
she  had  lost,  was,  being  man,  both  truer  and 
better  than  that  phantasm  she  was  bid  to  trust 
in." 

A.s  jet,  God  was  to  him  but  a  phantom, — 
"his  error  was,  his  God."  "To  Thee,  0 
Lord,"  says  he,  "my  burdened  soul  ought  to 
have  been  raised,  for  Thee  to  lighten :  I  knew 
it;  but  1  neither  could  nor  would;  the  more, 
since,  when  I  tliought  of  Thee,  Thou  wert  not 
to  me  any  solid  or  substantial  thing ;  for  Thou 
wert  not  Thyself,  but  a  mere  '  brightness.'  If 
I  offered  to  discharge  my  load  thereon^  that  it 
might  rest, — it  glided  through  the  void,  and 
came  rushing  down  again  upon  me ;  and  I  had 
remained  to  myself  a  hapless  spot,  where  I 
could  neither  be,  nor  be  from  thence.  For, 
whither  should  my  heart  flee  from  ray  heart  ? 
whither  should  I  flee  from  myself?  whither 
not  follow  myself  ?" 

And,  his  God  a  phantom,  his  bereaved  heart 
naturally  went,  for  "restoration  and  refresh- 
ment," only  to  "  the  solaces  of  other  friends." 
"Blessed,"  says  he,  "whoso  loveth  Thee,  and 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  81 

his  friend  in  Thee;  for  he  alone  loses  none 
dear  to  him,  to  whom  all  are  dear  in  Him  who 
cannot  be  lost."  A  bitter  discipline  was  yet  to 
teach  him,  that,  "  whithersoever  the  soul  of 
man  turns  itself,  unless  towards  its  God,  it  is 
riveted  upon  sorrows,  yea.  though  it  is  riveted 
upon  things  beautiful.'* 


<  By  what  unseen  and  unsuBpectcd  arts 
The  serpent  Error  twines  round  human  hearts  ! 
Not  all  whose  eloquence  the  fancy  fills , 
Musical  as  the  chime  of  tinkling  rills, 
Weak  to  perform,  though  mighty  to  pretend, 
Can  trace  his  mazy  windings  to  their  end." 


"Pride,"  says  one,  "is  coiled  as  a  poisonous 
worm  about  tlie  foundations  of  the  soul ;"  and 
its  "death"  is,  to  "wait  as  an  almsman  upon 
God."  Augustine  was  now  in  his  twenty 
seventh  year;  and,  though  "longing  to  stand 
and  hearken  to  God,"  he  "could  not,  for  the 
voices  of  his  own  errors."  "  Through  the  weight 
of  my  pride,"  says  he,  "  I  was  sinking  into  the 
lowest  pit." 

For  a  year  or  two  back,  he  had  been  "  medi- 
tating on   '  the  fair  and  the  fit.'  "     "  Do  we 
love,"  he  would  say  to  his  friends,  "  anything 
but  the  beautiful  ?     What,  then,  is  the  beauti- 
[82] 


MKMOIR    01'   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  83 

ful  ?  and  what  is  beauty  ?  What  is  it  that 
attracts  and  wins  us  to  the  things  we  love  ?  " 
At  lengtli  "corporeal  fictions,"  "buzzing  in 
the  ears  of  his  heart,"  came  forth  in  "two  or 
three  books,"  which  he  dedicated  to  "  Hierius, 
an  orator  of  Eome," 

This  Koman  he  "knew  not  b}^  face,"  but 
''  loved  for  the  fame  of  his  learning,  and  for 
some  words  of  his,  which  he  had  heard,  and 
which  pleased  him."  By  birth  a  Syrian,  Hierius 
had  risen,  after  being  "instructed  in  Grecian 
eloquence,"  into  "a  wonderful  Latin  orator, 
and  one  most  learned  in  things  pertaining  imto 
philosophy."  Aurelius,  wishhig  to  be  "  him- 
self such,"  loved  him  "for  the  love  of  the 
orator's  commenders,  rather  than  for  tlic  things 
for  which  he  was  commended."  "It  was  to 
me  a  great  matter,''  says  he,  "  that  m)'  discourse 
and  labours  should  ])e  known  to  that  man ; 
which  should  he  approve,  I  were  the  more 
kindled;  but,  if  he  disapproved,  my  empty 
heart,  void  of  Thy  solidity,  had  been  wounded. 
F(^r  so  did  I  then  lean  upon  the  judgment  of 
men,  not  upon  Tliine,  O  my  God,  in  whom  no 
man  is  deceived." 


84  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

All  this  time,  lie  kne^7  not  that  the  soul 
must  be  "enlightened  by  another  light"  than 
its  own,  if  it  would  be  "partaker  of  truth." 
God  must  light  its  candle ;  but  Aurelius  was 
his  own  candle.  "What  prouder,"  says  he, 
"than  for  me,  with  a  strange  madness,  to  main- 
tain myself  to  be  by  nature  that  which  Thou 
art  ?  And  I  was  wont,  pratingly  and  foolislily, 
to  ask  Thy  faithful  little  ones — 'Why,  then, 
doth  the  soul  err,  which  God  created  ?  '  But  I 
would  not  be  asked,  'Why,  tlien,  dotli  God 
err?'  And  I  maintained,  that  Thy  unchange- 
able substance  did  err  upon  constraint,  rather 
than  confess  that  my  changeable  substance  had 
gone  astray  voluntarily ;  and  now,  in  punish- 
ment, I  lay  in  error." 

The  result  he  gives,  thus: — "I  pressed 
towards  Thee,  and  was  thrust  from  Thee,  that 
I  might  taste  of  death  ;  for  Thou  '  resistest  the 
proud.'"  And,  again: — "I  was  repelled  by 
Thee ;  and  Thou  resistedst  my  vain  stiffneck- 
edness." 

And,  again: — "What  did  this  further  me, 
imagining  that  Thou,  0  Lord  God,  the  Truth, 
wert  a  vast  and  bright  body,  and  I  a  fragment 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  85 

of  that  body  ?  Perversencss  too  great !  But 
such  was  I.  Nor  do  I  blush,  0  my  God,  to 
'confess  to  Thee  Thy  mercies  towards  me,' 
and  to  call  upon  Thee, — I  who  blushed  not 
then  to  profess  to  men  my  blasphemies,  and  to 
bark  against  Thee.  "What  profited  me  then 
my  nimble  wit  in  those  sciences  and  in  all 
those  most  knotty  volumes,  unravelled  by  me 
Avithout  aid  from  human  instruction, — seeing  I 
erred  so  foully,  and  with  such  sacrilegious 
shamcfulncss,  in  the  doctrine  of  piety?  Or, 
what  hindrance  was  a  fiir  lower  wit  to  Thy 
little  ones— since  they  departed  not  for  from 
Thee,  that  in  the  nest  of  Thy  Church  they 
might  securely  be  fledged,  and  might  nourish 
the  wings  of  charity  by  the  food  of  a  sound 
faith?" 

Aurelius  was  in  his  nine-and-twentieth  year, 
when  there  arrived,  one  day,  at  Carthage,  "a 
certain  bishop  of  the  Manichees,  Faustus  by 
name,  a  great  snare  of  the  devil."  Fame  had 
"before  bespoken  him  most  knowing  in  all 
valuable  learning,  and  exquisitely  skilled  in 
the  liberal  sciences."  And  scarcely  had  he 
reached  the  city,  when  "  many  were  entangled 
s 


SC)  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AL:GUSTIXE. 

by  him  through  the  lure  of  his  smooth  lan- 
guage." Augustine,  regarding  less  "the  service 
of  oratory"  than  "the  science  which  this 
Faustus  set  before  him  to  feed  upon,"  found, 
in  "  those  long  fables  of  the  Manichees,"  con- 
clusions respectiug  "the  solstices,  the  equi- 
noxes, the  eclipses  of  the  greater  lights,"  aud 
such  matters — "quite  contrary"  to  what  had 
been  established  "by  calculations  and  by  his 
own  sight." 

Even  a  philosophy  which  could  have  ac- 
curately "measured  the  heavens,  and  numbered 
the  stars,  and  poised  the  elements,"  would  have 
failed  to  satisfy  a  heart  which  "  God  had  made 
for  Himself,"  and  which  "must  be  restless  until 
it  reposed  in  Him."  "  Doth,  then,"  he  writes, 
"  O  Lord  God  of  Truth,  whoso  knoweth  these 
things,  therefore  please  Thee?  Surely,  un- 
happy is  he  who  knoweth  all  tliese,  and 
knoweth  not  Thee ;  but  happy  whoso  knoweth 
Thee,  though  he  know  not  these.  And  whoso 
knoweth  both  Thee  and  them,  is  not  the  hap- 
pier for  them,  but  for  Thee  only,— if,  knowing 
Thee,  he  'glorifies  Thee  as  God,  and  is  thank- 
ful, and  becomes  not  vain  in  his  iinaginatjons.' 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  87 

For,  as  he  is  better  off  who  knows  how  to  pos- 
sess a  tree,  and  returns  thanks  to  Thee  for  the 
use  thereof,  although  he  know  not  how  many 
cubits  high  it  is,  or  how  wide  it  spreads,  than  ho 
that  can  measure  it,  and  count  all  its  boughs, 
and  neither  owns  it,  nor  knows  or  loves  its 
Creator; — so,  a  believer,  whose  is  all  this  Avorld 
of  wealth,  and  who,  '  having  nothing,  }^t  pos- 
sesseth  all  things,'  by  cleaving  unto  Thee  whom 
all  things  serve,  though  he  know  not  even  the 
circles  of  the  Great  Bear,  yet  is  it  folly  to 
doubt  but  he  is  in  a  better  state  than  one  who 
by  curious  skill  can  measure  the  starry  heavens, 
and  track  the  courses  of  the  planets,  yet  neg- 
lectetli  Thee." 

But  could  ManichcTUs — who,  ^'not  hnowing 
these  things^  most  impudentl}^  dared  to  teach 
them" — "have  any  knowledge  of  piety?" 
"  Going  about  to  persuade  men,  that  '  the  Holy 
Ghost,  the  Comforter  and  Enricher  of  God's 
ftiithful  ones,  was  with  plenary  authority  per- 
sonally within  him;'"  and  yet  "convicted," 
by  "those  who  had  truly  learned  them,"  of 
"  teaching  falsely  of  the  heaven  and  the  stars, 
and  of  the  motions  of  the  sun  and  moon  (al- 


88  ME:^roiR  of  st.  Augustine. 

thougli  these  tilings  pertained  not  to  tlie  doc- 
trine of  religion) ;" — was  lie  not  plainly  guilty 
of  "sacrilegious  presumption,  seeing  lie  de- 
livered things,  which  not  only  he  knew  not 
but  which  were  falsified,  with  so  mad  a  vanity 
of  pride  that  he  sought  to  ascribe  them  to  him- 
self as  to  a  divine  person  ?  " 

It  was  now  nine  years  since  Augustine, 
"  with  unsettled  mind,"  had  become  a  Mani- 
chee.  Year  by  year,  new  difficulties  had  agi- 
tated him;  and  "the  rest  of  the  sect,"  whom 
"by  chance  he  had  lighted  upon,"  had,  when 
"unable  to  solve  his  objections  about  these 
things,"  still  "held  out  to  him  the  coming  of 
this  Faustus,  by  conference  with  whom  these, 
and  greater  difl&culties  if  he  had  them,  were 
to  be  most  readily  and  abundantly  cleared," 
Faustus  he  had  now  met.  "  Of  pleasing  dis- 
course," and  "speaking  fluently  and  in  better 
terms,"  he  had  uttered  onlj^  "  the  self-same 
things  which  other  disciples  had  been  wont  to 
say."  "Delighted  verily  with  his  action  and 
feeling  when  disputing,  and  with  his  choice 
and  readiness  of  words  to  clothe  his  ideas," 
and,  "  with  many  others,  and  moi'e  loudly  than 


iTEMOIll   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  89 

they,  praising  and  extolling  him,'' — he  had,  on 
a  nearer  study  of  him,  found  him  "  first  utterly 
ignorant  of  liberal  sciences,  save  grammar,  and 
that  but  in  an  ordinary  way."  And,  being 
"  ignorant  of  those  arts  in  which  he  thought 
he  excelled/'  how  should  he  "  open  and  solve" 
the  graver  difficulties  which  perplexed  Augus- 
tine's conscience? 

Faustus  himself,  indeed,  had  rather  capti- 
vated Aurelius'  generous  heart;  for  "he  was 
not  one  of  those  talking  persons,  many  of  whom 
he  had  endured,  who,  undertaking  to  teach 
him  these  things,  said  nothing."  This  man 
•'had  a  heart,  thongh  not  right  towards  God, 
yet  neither  altogether  treacherous  to  himself." 
Not  wholly  ignorant  of  his  own  ignorance,  and 
not  ashamed  to  confess  it, — "  he  did  not  rashly 
entangle  himself  in  a  dispute,  from  which  he 
could  neither  retreat,  nor  extricate  himself 
fairly."  And  for  this  modesty  Augustine 
"  liked  him  the  better." 

But  all  the  more  did  he  now  begin  to  dislike 
the  doctrine  which  even  "  this  ingenuous  advo- 
cate had  failed  to  defend."  His  ''zeal  for  the 
writings  of  ^ranicha.His  Avas  blunted;"  for,  if 


90  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

he,  ''wlio  in  such  wise  presumed  to  be  a 
teacher,  guide,  chief,  that  whoso  followed  him 
thought  that  he  followed  not  man  but  God's 
Holy  Spirit,  were  once  convicted  of  having 
taught  anything  false," — was  not  "so  great 
madness"  to  be  detested  and  utterly  rejected?'' 
Thus,  "  this  Faustus,  who  to  so  many  had  been 
a  snare  of  death,  now  began,  neither  willing 
nor  witting  it,  to  loosen  that  wherein  Aurelius 
had  been  taken." 

Once  more  he  was  at  his  wit's  end.  Like 
the  prodigal,  "no  man  gave  to  him."  Pride 
of  intellect — 

'•  That  pestilent  meteor,  flitting  on  the  marshes  of 
corruption"  — 

had  been  "luring  him  forward  to  his  death;" 
now  it  was  once  more  quenched  in  darkness. 
But  "Thy  hands,"  says  he,  "0  my  God,  in 
the  secret  purpose  of  Thy  providence,  did  not 
forsake  my  soul ;  and  out  of  my  mother's 
heart's  blood,  through  her  tears  night  and  day 
poured  out,  was  a  sacrifice  offered  for  me  unto 
Thee,  and  Thou  didst  deal  with  me  by  won- 
drous ways.     Thou  didst  it,  O  my  God ;  for 


:\tEMOiii  OF  ST.  AUGi;srixi:.  91 

'  tlie  steps  of  a  man  are  ordered  by  the  Lord, 
and  He  shall  dispose  his  way.'  Or  how  shall 
we  obtain  salvation,  but  from  Thy  hand,  re- 
making what  it  made  ?  " 

But  now  a  new  scene  was  to  open,  and  a 
brighter  day  to  dawn, 


XI. 

«  I  was  a  stricken  deer  : 

With  many  an  arrow  deep  infix'd 
My  panting  side  was  charged." 

On  tlie  liigliway  from  Cartilage  miglit  be  seen, 
one  afternoon,  two  travellers — tlie  one,  a  youth 
of  prepossessing  mein,  but 

"  Rushing  madly  on,  as  if  trying  to  forget  his  being," 

the  other,  a  grave  matron,  "  holding  him  by 
force,  that  either  she  might  keep  him  back,  or 
might  go  with  him."  It  was — Aurelius  Au- 
gustine, on  his  way  to  Rome, — and  his  saintly 
mother,  "grievously  bewailing  his  journey,  and 
following  him  as  far  as  the  sea." 

Night  came  on;  and  they  repaired  to  "a 
place  hard  by  the  ship,  where  was  an  Oratory 
in  memory  of  the  blessed  Cyprian." 

At  midnight,  Monica  retired — not  to  rest, 
[92] 


MEiEOIM   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  93 

but  to  iier  closet  to  ask  tlie  Lord  "  with  many 
tears"  that  He  "would  not  suffer"  lier  son 
"  to  sail."  Augustine,  instead  of  going  to  Lis 
cliamber,  "privily  departed,"  and  stepped  on 
board.  Tlie  wind  springing  up,  the  craft  set 
sail ;  and,  before  many  liours,  the  shore  was 
out  of  sight.  "  I  lied  to  my  mother,"  says  he, 
"  and  such  a  mother  ! — and  escaped." 

It  is  morning ;  and  Monica  is  on  the  shore, 
"frantic  with  sorrow,  and  filling  God's  ears 
with  complaints  and  groans."  She  gazes  on 
the  waste  of  waters,  and  she  gazes  again ;  for 
"  she  has  loved  his  being  with  her,  as  mothers 
do,  though  much  more  than  many."  But  he 
is  gone !  he,  "  the  only  son  of  his  mother,"  is 
gone  ! — and  gone — she  knows  not  whither. 

Stunned  by  his  "  treachery  and  hardhearted- 
ness  " — as  only  such  a  mother  could  be, — she 
"betook  herself  again  to  intercede  to  God  for 
him,"  "  the  earthly  part  of  her  affection  to  him 
chastened  with  the  allotted  scourge  of  sorrows." 
A  few  days  passed  ;  and  she  "returned  to  her 
wonted  place,"  "  daily  to  water  with  the  streams 
of  her  eyes  the  ground  under  her  face,"  but 
3* 


94:  ME:Mom  of  st.  augustixe. 

"  knowing  not  how  great  joy  God  was  about 
to  work  for  her  out  of  his  absence." 

The  scene  changes  ;  and  we  are  in  Rome,  in 
the  house  of  a  Manichee,  where  Augustine  lies 
dangerously  ill.  It  is  night — fever  has  come 
on — and  the  patient  begins  to  tremble  lest  he 
be  "parting  and  departing  for  ever." 

"  I  am  going  down  to  hell,"  he  mutters, 
tremulously ;   "  I'm  going  with  all  my  sins  !  " 

"  Nay,"  Avhispers  the  Manichee,  "  you  have 
loved  the  good  and  the  beautiful, — and  Christ 
will  not  reject  you." 

^'  Oh !  I  have  made  His  cross  a  phantom ; 
and  how  can  a  phantom  save  me  ?  " 

"  But  truth  !  truth  !  that  is  life  !  " 

"  No ;  there  is  nothing  for  me,  but  to  depart 
into  fire  and  torments,  such  as  my  misdeeds 
deserve." 

"And  Monica  !  "he  thought,  "  how  shall  she 
bear  her  Aurelius'  double  death  ? "  "  with 
which  wound,"  says  he  afterwards,  "  liad  my 
mother's  heart  been  pierced,  it  could  never 
have  been  healed.  For  I  cannot  express  the 
affection  she  bare  to  me,  and  with  how  much 


MEMOIR   OF   8T.    AUGUSTINE.  95 

more  veliement  aiigaisli  she  was  now  in  labour 
of  me  in  the  spirit,  than  at  her  child-bearing  in 
the  flesh." 

But,  at  its  crisis,  the  fever  abated.  "  Thou 
rccoveredst  me  then,"  he  writes,  "  of  that  sick- 
ness, and  healedst  the  son  of  Thine  handmaid 
for  the  time  in  the  bodj^,  that  he  might  live  for 
Thee  to  bestow  upon  him  a  better  and  more 
abiding  health." 

The  exile,  however,  recovered,  only  to  bo 
"  as  phrenzied  as  ever  in  his  sacrilegious  heart." 
A  dark  cloud  hung  overhead ;  and  yet,  ever 
and  anon,  there  gleamed  upon  it  that  one  sil- 
ver lining  —  his  mother's  weeping  prayers. 
"  Couldest  Thou  despise,"  says  he,  "  and  reject 
from  Thy  aid  the  tears  of  such  an  one,  and 
those  her  so  strong  and  unceasing  pra3'ers, 
wherewith  she  begged  of  Thee,  not  gold  or  sil- 
ver, nor  any  mutable  or  passing  good,  but  the 
salvation  of  her  son's  soul  ?  Thou,  by  whose 
gift  she  was  such  ?  Never.  Lord.  Yea,  Thou 
wert  at  hand,  and  wert  hearing  and  doing,  in 
that  order  Avherein  Thou  hadst  determined  be- 
fore that  it  should  be  done.  Far  be  it  from 
Thee  that  Thou  shouldcst  deceive  her  in  Thv 


96  MEMOIR   OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

visions  and  answers,  which  she  laid  up  in  her 
faithful  heart,  and,  ever  praying,  urged  upon 
Thee  as  Thine  own  handwriting." 

Now  "  beginning  diligently  to  practise  that 
for  which  he  had  come  to  Rome — the  teaching 
of  rhetoric," — his  first  step  was  to  "  gather  to 
his  house  some  to  whom,  and  through  whom, 
he  had  begun  to  be  known."  But  many 
weeks  had  not  passed,  when  new  vexations 
seemed  to  Avliisper  that  he  had  not  yet  found  a 
home. 

In  Carthage,  there  had  "  reigned  among  the 
scholars  a  most  disgraceful  and  unruly  license." 
They  would  "  burst  in  audaciously,"  and  "with 
gestures  almost  frantic,"  would  "  disturb  all 
order  which  any  one  had  established  for  the 
good  of  his  scholars ;  "  and,  not  content  with 
this,  they  would,  "  with  a  wo-nderful  stolidity," 
commit  "  divers  outrages,  punishable  by  law," 
but  rendered  all  the  more  intolerable  that  "  a 
blinded  and  blinding  'custom'  upheld  and 
made  lawful  what  God's  eternal  law  con- 
demned." But  at  Rome  he  had  heard,  young- 
men  studied  more  peacefully,  and  were  Jcept 
under  a  restraint  of  more  regular  discipline ; 


MEMOIIl   OF    ST.    AUGUSTINE.  97 

and,  for  this  "almost  only  reason,"  not  for 
"  higher  gains  or  dignities,"  he  had  **  changed 
his  earthly  dwelling."  Another  and  sorer  evil, 
however,  now  harassed  him.  The  youths  had 
not  been  with  him  a  month,  when,  "  on  a  sud- 
den, to  avoid  paying  their  master's  stipend,  a 
number  of  them  plotted  together,  and  removed 
elsewhere,"  — "  breakers  of  faith,"  says  he, 
somewhat  warmly,  "  who,  for  love  of  money, 
held  justice  cheap."  These  his  "  heart  hated," 
— though  he  feared  "  not  '  with  a  perfect  ha- 
tred,' " — for,  "  perchance,  lie  hated  them  more 
because  he  was  to  suffer  by  them,  than  because 
they  did  things  utterly  unlawful."  "  I  rather," 
says  he,  "  for  my  own  sake  misliked  them  evil, 
than  liked  and  wished  them  good  for  Thine." 
But  this  "  perverseness"  God  "secretly  used," 
to  "  goad  "  him  onward  to  the  place  where  He 
had  purposed  to  meet  him  in  grace. 

Otherwise,  also,  he  was  ill  at  ease.  Kome 
"secretly  harboured"  not  a  few  of  that  evil 
sect  whose  follies  he  had  now  detected  but  still 
strangely  loved ;  and  his  "  familiar  friendship 
with  certain  disciples  of  the  fraternity  had  riv- 
eted once  more  the  spell.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
9 


98  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

*'  If  the  wanderer  his  mistake  discern, 
Judge  his  own  ways,  and  sigh  for  a  return, — 
Bewildered  once,  must  he  bewail  his  loss 
Forever  aad  forever  ?  " 

No ;  one  refuge — that  which  Monica  had  so 
often  whispered  to  him — ever  and  anon  floated 
in  a  dim  haze  before  his  eye. 

"The  Cross! 
There,  and  there  only  (though  the  deist  rave), 
There,  and  there  only,  is  the  power  to  save. 
There  no  delusive  hope  invites  despair ; 
No  mockery  meets  you,  no  deception  there. 
The  spells  and  charms,  which  bhnded  yoii  before, 
All  vanish  there,  and  fascinate  no  more." 

And,  again  and  again,  during  these  dreary 
months,  the  voice  of  the  Crucified  seemed  to 
beckon  him  to  rest.  "  Whither  goest  thou," 
it  would  say  to  him,  "in  rough  ways?  To 
what  end  wouldest  thou  still  and  still  walk 
these  difficult  and  toilsome  paths  ?  There  is 
no  rest  where  thou  seekest  it.  Thou  seekest  a 
blessed  life  in  the  land  of  death :  it  is  not  there ; 
for  how  should  there  be  a  blessed  Jife  where 
life  itself  is  not?  " 

One  evening,  as  he  sat  in  his  chamber  lonely 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  99 

and  downcast,  "  memories  of  Monica  and  of 
her  early  teachings  rose  up  before  his  troubled 
spirit."  "  Our  true  Life,"  was  his  secret 
thought,  "came  dov/n  hither,  and  bore  our 
death,  and  slew  death,  out  of  the  abundance 
of  His  own  life.  And  He  thundered,  calling 
aloud  to  us  to  return  hence  to  Him  into  that 
secret  place  whence  He  came  forth  to  us — 
first  into  the  Virgin's  womb  wherein  He  es- 
poused the  human  creation,  our  mortal  flesh, 
that  it  might  not  be  forever  mortal,  and  thence 
'  like  a  bridegroom  coming  out  of  his  cham- 
ber, rejoicing  as  a  giant  to  run  his  course.' 
For  He  lingered  not,  but  ran,  calling  aloud  by 
words,  deeds,  death,  life,  descent,  ascension; 
crying  aloud  to  us  to  return  to  Him.  And 
He  departed  from  our  eyes,  that  we  might  re- 
turn into  our  heart,  and  there  find  Him.  For 
He  departed ;  and  lo,  He  is  here.  Even  now, 
after  the  descent  of  Life  to  thee,  wilt  thou  not 
ascend,  0  my  soul,  and  live  ?  " 

Had  he,  then,  found  rest?     Alas!  "Heav- 
en's easy,  artless,  unencumbered  plan," 

"  Sorts  not  with  hia  darling  whim  ; 
Though  plain  to  others,  'tis  obscure  to  him." 


100  MEMOIR  OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

And  strange  indeed  were  the  difficulties  whicli 
his  mind  fashioned  for  itself.  "It  seemed  to 
me  very  unseemly"  he  says,  "to  believe  Thee 
to  have  the  shape  of  human  flesh,  and  to  be 
bounded  by  the  bodily  lineaments  of  our  mem- 
bers. This  was  the  greatest  and  almost  only 
cause  of  my  inevitable  error."  Then  this 
thought  presented  itself — "I  fear  to  believe 
our  Saviour  to  have  been  born  in  the  flesh, 
lest  I  should  be  forced  to  believe  Him  defiled 
by  the  flesh."  And,  again  : — "  There  half 
arises  the  tliought  in  me,  that  those  philoso- 
phers, whom  they  call  '  Academics,'  are  wiser 
than  the  rest;  for  that  they  hold  that  men 
ought  to  doubt  everything,  and  lay  down  that 
no  truth  can  be  comprehended  by  man."  And, 
summing  up  all,  he  adds : — "  I  despaired  of 
finding  in  Thy  Church  the  truth  from  which  I 
had  been  turned  aside." 
Cowper  writes : — 

"  Learning  oftentimes 
Serves  but  to  lead  philosophers  astray, 
Where  children  would  with  ease  discern  the  way. 
When  some  hypothesis,  absurd  and  vain, 
Has  filled  with  all  its  fumes  a  critic's  brain, 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  101 

The  will  made  suly'ect  to  a  lawless  force, 

All  is  irregular  and  out  of  course ; 

And  Judgment,  drunk,  and  bribed  to  lose  his  way, 

Winks  hard,  and  talks  of  darkness  at  noon-day." 

Such  was  Augustine,  at  tliis  new  stage  of  his 
erratic  course.  "  Panting  after  the  breath  of 
Thy  truth,"  he  says,  "  I  could  not  breathe  it 
pure  and  untainted."  Carthage  had  offered 
him  only  an  "unreal  happiness;"  and  now, 
in  Eome,  the  shadow  was  shadowy  as  ever. 
To  what  new  "dwelling"  was  the  Lord  thus 
leading  him  "for  the  salvation  of  his  soul?" 
At  what  Bethel  was  he  to  find  the  heavenly 
ladder  by. which,  "from  his  weariness,"  he 
should  pass  upward  to  God? 


XII. 

"  He  shewed  me  the  picture  of  a  very  grave  person.  It  had  eyos 
hfted  up  to  heaven,  the  best  of  books  in  its  hand,  the  law  of  truth  was 
written  upon  its  hps,  and  the  world  was  behind  its  back  ;  it  stood  as 
if  it  pleaded  with  men,  and  a  crown  of  gold  did  hang  over  its  head. 
And  he  said,  'The  man  whose  picture  this  is,  is  the  only  man  whom 
the  lord  of  the  place,  whither  thou  art  going,  hath  authorized  to  be 
thy  guide  in  all  difiQcult  places  thou  mayest  meet  with  in  the  way.'  " 

At  Milan,  some  eight  or  nine  years  before, 
a  strange  scene  had  been  witnessed. 

The  bishop  was  dead;  and  the  emperor 
Valentinian  had  summoned  the  bishops  of  the 
province  to  elect  a  successor.  "  Choose,"  said 
he,  addressing  them,  "  a  man  fit  to  instruct  by 
life,  as  well  as  by  doctrine ;  and  we  ourselves 
will  readily  submit  our  sceptres  to  his  counsels 
and  direction,  and,  as  men  exposed  to  human 
frailty,  will  receive  his  reproofs  and  admoni- 
tions as  wholesome  physic." 

A  youthful  Eoman,  of  singular  capacity, 
and  of  even  more  singular  rectitude,  at  that 

[102] 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  103 

time  ruled  the  province.  The  youngest  son  of 
the  emperor's  lieutenant  in  France,  he  had,  on 
his  father's  decease,  repaired,  with  his  mother 
and  two  brothers  and  an  only  sister,  to  Eome, 
where  he  quickly  rose,  at  the  bar,  to  such  dis- 
tinction, as  to  be  chosen  by  the  Christian  Pre- 
fect of  Italy  to  be  a  member  of  his  Privy 
Council,  and,  not  long  afterwards,  governor 
of  Milan.  Ambrose  had  a  sister,  Marcellina, 
whose  heart  had  been  touched  by  the  love  of 
Christ ;  and  to  her  he  owed  a  fixed  preposes- 
sion  in  favour  of  "  living  godliness."  "  Go," 
the  Prefect  had  said  to  liim,  on  setting  out  for 
his  own  province,  "  and  govern  more  like  a 
bishop  than  a  judge."  And,  for  five  years,  he 
had  held  the  reins  of  office,  loved  rather  as  a 
father,  than  feared  as  a  bearer  of  the  sword. 

The  bishops  were  now  assembled  in  con- 
clave ;  and  day  after  day  passed  without  any 
result, — the  opposing  factions — the  Arians  and 
the  orthodox  —  dividing  the  city,  and  eacli 
urging  the  claims  of  their  favourite  candidate. 
At  length,  one  morning,  as  a  vast  multitude 
had  gathered  into  the  church,  bent  on  open 
violence,    Ambrose    hearing   of    the    uproar, 


104  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

hastened  to  the  spot.  His  presence,  and  a  few 
cabniiig  words,  sufficed  to  quell  the  storm; 
but  scarcely  had  he  sat  down,  when,  amidst 
the  dead  silence,  an  "  infant  voice"  whispered, 
"  Ambrose  is  bishop."  At  once,  the  whole 
assembly,  "catching  the  word,  as  if  a  voice 
from  heaven,"  shouted,  "Ambrose  shall  be 
the  man  !  "  The  sound  of  faction  was  hushed; 
and,  "by  universal  consent,  he  who  had  come, 
as  the  governor,  simply  to  keep  the  peace, 
found  himself  suddenly  summoned  to  feed  and 
to  govern  Christ's  flock."  After  much  hesita- 
tion, he  yielded,  and  entered  on  his  new  func- 
tion. 

Kot  unworthily  did  he  "fulfil  his  ministry." 
Devoting  many  hours  daily  to  the  study  of  the 
Scriptures  and  to  prayer,  he  would  come  forth 
among  his  fellows  with  a  certain  heavenly  halo 
about  him,  which  seemed  to  say  that  he  had 
been  on  the  mount  with  God. 

"  Paul's  love  of  Christ,  and  steadiness  unbribed, 
Were  copied  close  in  him,  and  well  transcribed." 

With  great  plainness  he  rebuked  the  evils 
of   the    day,    not    shrinking   from   tlie  ■  most 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  105 

unsparing  denunciations  of  the  prevailing 
"fashionable  sins."  The  poor  were  his  "stew- 
ards and  treasurers ;"  and  the  humblest  and  the 
meanest  found  him  easy  of  access.  "I  con- 
fess," said  he,  unfolding  the  secret  of  his  rare 
sympathy  and  lowliness,  "my  debts  were 
greater  than  those  of  the  penitent  woman,  and 
more  was  forgiven  me,  who  was  called  into 
the  ministry  from  the  noise  of  the  forum  and 
from  the  terror  of  judicial  administration. 
Yet,  if  we  cannot  equal  her,  the  Lord  Jesus 
Knows  how  to  support  the  weak,  and  to  bring 
with  Himself  the  fountain  of  living  water. 
He  came  to  the  grave  Himself  O  that  Thou 
wouldest  come.  Lord  Jesus,  to  this  my  sepul- 
chre of  corruption,  and  wash  me  with  Thy 
tears !  It  shall  be  said,  '  Behold,  a  man,  taken 
from  the  midst  of  secular  vanity,  remains  Thy 
minister,  not  by  his  own  strength,  but  by  the 
grace  of  Christ.'     Preserve,  Lord,  Thy  gift." 

One  day,  a  young  man,  a  personal  friend, 
came  to  him,  desiring  ordination.  Possessed 
of  ample  learning,  and  not  wanting  in  gifts,  he 
yet  had  about  him  a  certain  air  of  lightness 
which  wounded    Ambrose's    heart.       "  I  am 


106  MEMOIR   OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

sorry  to  refuse  you,"  said  lie;  "but  I  cannot 
help  it.  I  dare  not  commit  to  you  the  care  of 
precious  souls."  And,  on  another  occasion, 
warning  his  clergy  against  certain  "  feastings" 
and  "  gay  entertainments,"  he  remarked — 
"What  have  we  to  do  with  such  scenes? 
Why  do  you  not  revisit  Christ,  speak  to  Chr.ist, 
hear  Christ?  We  speak  to  Him,  when  we 
pray :  we  hear  Him  Avhen  we  read  the  Divine 
oracles.  We  received  the  ministry  to  attend 
on  the  service  of  Christ,  not  to  pay  court  to 
men." 

To  the  feet  of  that  "  best  of  men,"  Augus- 
tine was  now  "unknowing  led"  by  God,  that 
by  him  he  might  "  knowingly  be  led  to 
God." 

The  citizens  of  Milan,  in  want  of  a  "  rhet- 
oric reader"  for  their  city,  had  "  sent  to  Eome 
to  the  prefect,"  to  look  out  a  fit  man,  and  to 
"  send  him  at  the  public  expense."  Symma- 
chus  had  relations  with  the  Manichees ;  and, 
"  through  those  very  persons  —  intoxicated 
with  Manichean  vanities  —  to  be  freed  from 
whom  he  was  to  go  (neither,  however,  know- 
ing it),"  he  "  made  application  to  be  tried  by 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  107 

setting  him  some  subject,  and  so  be  sent."   He 
was  successful ;  and  he  set  out. 

"  To  Milan,"  says  he,  "I  came — to  Ambrose 
the  bishop,  Thy  devout  servant,  whose  elo- 
quent discourse  did  then  plentifully  dispense 
unto  Thy  people  the  flour  of  Thy  wheat,  the 
gladness  of  Thy  oil,  and  the  sober  inebriation  1 
of  Thy  wine."  The  "  man  of  God"  received 
him  "as  a  father,"  "shewing  him  an  episcopal 
kindness  on  his  coming."  And  Augustine 
"  henceforth  began  to  love,  him — at  first,  in- 
deed, not  as  a  teacher  of  truth,  but  as' a  person 
kind  to  himself"  Day  after  da}^,  he  would 
steal  away  into  some  secret  corner,  to  listen  to 
the  earnest  preacher,  "hanging  on  his  words 
attentively,"  and  "delighted  with  the  sweet- 
ness of  his  discourse,  more  recondite,  yet  in 
manner  less  winning  and  harmonious,  than 
that  of  Faustus  ;" — though  "  of  the  matter 
there  was  no  comparison ;  for,  the  one  was 
wandering  amid  Manichean  delusions,  the 
other  teaching  salvation  most  soundly."* 

*  Possidius,  Augustiuc's  frioud  and  biographer,  remarks,  in  his  brief 
notes  on  this  period  : — "  Hiijiis  vcrbi  Dei  praedicatoris  frequentissimis 
in  ecclesia  disputationibus  adstans  iu  populo,  intendebat  suspensus 
atque  affixus." 


108  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

Bacon  describes  certain  "idols  of  the  cave" 
wliicli  hinder  the  mind  from  reaching  the  sun- 
light. Augustine  was  drawing  nearer  to  the 
light  "by  little  and  little,  and  unconsciously;" 
but  two  "idols"  met  him,  making  him  feel 
that  "  salvation  was  far  from  sinners  such  as 
he  then  stood  before  God." 

He  "  could  not  imagine  any  substance  but 
such  as  was  wont  to  be  seen  with  the  eyes ;" 
and,  so,  unable  to  "  conceive  a  spiritual  sub- 
stance," he  would  fain  have  taken  refuge  once 
more  in  the  "Academic"  infidelity,  "  doubting 
of  everything,  and  wavering  between  all," — 
though  "  to  the  j)hilosophers,"  he  says,  who 
were  "  without  the  saving  name  of  Christ,"  "  I 
utterly  refused  to  commit  the  cure  of  my  sick 
soul."  A  darker  idol,  however,  enslaved  him. 
He  was  "  gross-hearted."  His  "  concubine" 
had  followed  liim  to  Milan;  and  his  "heart 
cleaved"  to  her  with  a  guilty  affection.  "  Hab- 
its," it  has  been  said, 

"  Are  soou  assumed ;  but,  when  we  strive 
To  strip  them  off,  'tis  being  fiay'd  alive." 

Augustine  was  "the  slave  of  lust;"  the  "dis- 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  109 

ease  of  his  soul  was  kept  up  with  vigour ;" 
and  to  surrender  his  idol  would  have  been  "to 
tear  his  heart  and  wound  it  and  bleed  it.'' 

The  result  was  a  filmy  darkness  which  no 
reasonings  could  penetrate. 

"  That  prize  belongs  to  none  but  the  sincere ; 
The  least  obliquity  is  fatal  here." 

Ko  wonder  he  listened  to  Ambrose,  "  not 
with  the  intent  he  ought,  but,  as  it  were,  try- 
ing his  eloquence,  whether  it  answered  the 
fame  thereof,  or  flowed  fuller  or  lower  than 
had  been  reported,"  whilst  of  "  the  matter"  he 
was  "  as  a  careless  and  scornful  looker-on." 

And  yet,  "though  taking  no  pains  to  learn 
what  the  preacher  spoke,  but  onl}^  to  hear  how 
he  spoke,"  there  "  came  into  his  mind  often- 
times, together  with  the  words  which  he  would 
choose,  the  things  which  he  would  refuse.*" 
for  he  "could  not  separate  them;"  since,  while 
"  he  opened  his  heart  to  admit '  how  eloquently 
he  spoke,'  "  there  "  also  entered,  though  as  yet 
by  degrees,  '  how  truly  he  spoke.'  " 

The  "Catholic  faith  now  began  to  appear  to 
him    a  thing    capable  of  defence."      It    had 
10 


110  MEMOIR   OF  ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

''learned  maintainers,"  who  "could  at  large 
and  with  some  show  of  reason  answer  objec- 
tions ;"  and,  though  it  was  "  not  a  way  to  be 
held"  to  the  condemnation  of  his  old  belief, 
he  now  blamed  his  recent  "  despair  that  no 
answer  could  be  given  to  such  as  hated  and 
scoffed  at  the  law  and  the  prophets."  The 
"Catholic  cause"  w^as  "not,  indeed,  as  yet 
victorious , 
such  sort  not  vanquished." 


XIII. 

"  The  touching  recollection  of  her  prayers  shall  arrest  the  strong 
man  in  his  sins." 

Monica  was  still  at  Thegaste,  at  lier  "  wonted 
place,"  interceding  for  her  son. 

"  How  strong,  yet  how  most  weak  I  in  utter  poverty  how 
rich  I 

Behold  that  fragile  form ! 

Hath  not  thy  heart  said  of  her— 'Alas!  poor  child  of 
weakness  ?  ' 

Thou  hast  erred;  Goliath  of  Gath  stood  not  in  half 
her  strength : 

She  is  the  King's  remembrancer,  and  steward  of  many 
blessings ; 

Holding  the  buckler  of  security  over  her  unthankful 
son. 

For  that  weak  fluttering  heart  is  strong  in  faith  as- 
sured ; 

Dependence  is  her  might,  and  behold — she  prayeth." 

Time  had  not  assuaged  her  anxiety;    for, 
week  by  week,  did  she  pour  "fourth  more  co- 

[111] 


112  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

pious  prayers  and  tears,"  bewailing  him  ''  as 
one  dead,"  and  "  carrying  him  forth  upon  the 
bier  of  her  thoughts,  that  God  might  say  to  the 
son  of  the  widow,  '  Young  man !  1  say  unto 
thee,  arise.' " 

Augustine,  ^Ikiding  long  afterwards  to  this 
season,  writes : — "  Wouldest  Thou,  God  of 
mercies,  '  despise  the  contrite  and  humbled 
heart '  of  that  chaste  and  sober  widow ;  so  fre- 
quent in  almsdeeds  ;  so  full  of  duty  and  service 
to  Thy  saints ;  twice  a-day,  morning  and  even- 
ing, without  any  intermission,  coming  to  Thy 
church,  not  for  idle  tattlings  and  old  wives'  fa- 
bles, but  that  she  might  hear  Thee  in  Thy 
discourses,  and  Thou  her  in  her  prayers  ? 
Couldest  Thou  despise  and  reject  from  Thj^  aid 
the  tears  of  such  an  one  ?  " 

At  length,  one  morning,  she  set  out  from  her 
humble  home;  and  going  on  board  a  ship 
which  was  in  the  harbour,  she  sailed  for  Ge- 
noa. A  day  or  two  passed,  and  the  vessel  was 
heaving  amidst  one  of  those  storms  which  visit 
that  sea.  Eickety  and  leaky,  the  craft  creaked 
and  groaned,  as  if  each  moment  she  would 
founder ;  and  the  sailors,  in  consternation,  were 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  113 

preparing  for  the  worst.  But  one  heart  was 
calm  that  niglit.  "Be  not  troubled,"  said  the 
mysterious  passenger,  "  I  know  we  shall  have 
a  safe  arrival,"  It  was  Monica,  "  comforting 
the  very  mariners,  by  wliom  passengers,  unac- 
quainted wdth  tlie  deep,  used  ratlier  to  be  com- 
forted when  troubled."  She  "  believed  in 
Christ,"  says  Augustine,  "that,  before  she  de- 
parted this  life,  she  should  see  her  son  a  Catho- 
lic believer." 

Standing  on  deck,  one  brilliant  morning,  ds 
they  entered  the  harbour  of  Genoa,  she  gazed 
with  a  strange  emotion  on  the  magnificent 
scene.  Another  traveller,  one  day,  wrote  on 
that  spot : — 

"  The  mountains  of  this  glorious  land 

Are  conscious  beings  to  mine  eye, 
When  at  the  break  of  day  they  stand 

Like  giants,  looking  through  the  sky 
To  hail  the  sun's  unrisen  car, 

That  gilds  their  diadems  of  snow, 
"While  one  by  one,  as  star  by  star, 

Their  peaks  in  ether  glow. 

"  Their  silent  presence  fills  my  soul, 

When,  to  the  horizontal  ray, 

The  many-tinctured  vapours  roll 

In  evanescent  wreaths  away, 

10* 


114  MEMOIR    OF   ST.    AUGUSTI^^E. 

And  leave  them  uaked  ou  the  sceue 

The  emblems  of  eternity, 
The  same  as  they  have  ever  been, 

And  shall  for  ever  be  1 " 

But  Monica,  ttat  morning,  had  an  eye  for  one 
object  only  in  the  landscape.  Her  lost  one 
was  there  ;  and  over  him  her  bowels  yearned, 
''  with  sorrow  seeking  what  in  sorrow  she 
had  brought  forth,  and  knowing  not  how  great 
joy  God  was  about  to  work  for  her."  She 
landed  ;  and,  before  noon,  she  was  on  her  way 
to  Milan. 

In  a  gaol  at  Milan,  a  prisoner  knelt,  one  even- 
ing, weeping  great  tears.  "  O  my  Grod,"  he 
cried,  "I  had  abandoned  Thee!  I  see  Thee 
again :  I  love  Thee.  I  repent  that  I  have  so 
insulted  Thee  !  "  On  a  shelf  beside  him  lay  a 
Bible,  covered  with  dust.  For  six  or  seven 
days,  he  had  not  opened  it ;  and,  instead,  he 
had  taken  to  amusing  himself  with  "foolish 
pleasantries,"  "  singing  with  a  pretended  merri- 
ment." 

One  morning,  the  gaoler's  child  came  in,  and 
Silvio  Pellico  caressed  it  and  smiled.  ''Since 
you  have  left  off  reading  that  villain  of  a  book," 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  115 

said  the  ckild,  with  an  artless  simplicity,  point- 
ing to  the  neglected  Bible,  and  repeating  some 
epithets  which  he  had  heard  probably  from  the 
lips  of  the  priest,  "you  do  not  look  so  sad  as 
before."  Blushing  mth  shame,  he  took  the 
book  from  the  shelf;  and,  brushing  away  the 
dust  with  a  napkin  and  opening  it,  his  eye 
caught  these  words — "  And  He  said  to  His  dis- 
ciples, it  is  impossible  but  that  offences  will 
come  ;  but  woe  to  that  man  by  whom  the  of- 
fence Cometh!  it  were  better  for  him  ^iiat  a 
millstone  were  hanged  about  his  neck,  and  he 
cast  into  the  sea,  than  that  he  should  offend 
one  of  these  little  ones."  '^What!"  thought 
he  with  himself;  *'  does  this  child  suppose,  by 
the  dust  on  my  Bible,  that  I  have  become  more 
sociable  and  pleasant  through  forgetting  God  ?  " 
Then,  turning  to  his  little  visitor  and  kissing 
him,  he  said,  half  playfully,  yet  "completely 
desolate  at  having  so  scandalised  him" — "  You 
little  rogue  !  this  is  not  a  villain-book  ;  during 
the  several  days  that  I  have  neglected  it,  I  am 
become  much  worse.  My  singing,  which  you 
have  heard,  is  only  a  force-put ;  and  my  ill- 
humour,  which  I  try  to  drive  away  when  your 


116  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

mother  lets  you  in  to  see  me,  comes  all  back 
when  I  am  alone." 

The  child  had  scarcely  gone  ont,  when, 
"  with  indescribable  emotion,"  Silvio  placed  his 
Bible  on  a  chair — knelt  down  upon  the  earth 
to  read — and,  though  unused  to  weep,  burst 
into  tears.  For  more  than  an  hour,  he  "  read 
and  lameiited,"  ashamed  of  his  grievous  sin, 
and  vowing  never  again  to  separate  from  God, 
for  ever.  At  length,  he  rose,  full  of  confidence 
in  the  thought  that  God  was  with  him,  and 
that  he  had  "  pardoned  his  delirium ! "  And 
now  he  vv^as  girded  for  any  trial.  "  Yester- 
day," said  he,  my  misfortunes,  the  torments  of 
my  impending  trial,  the  probability  of  torture, 
seemed  like  huge,  frowning  precipices;  now 
they  appeared  to  me  a  very  little  thing.  I  can 
rejoice  in  suffering,  since  I  may  fulfil  a  sacred 
duty,  which  is,  to  obey  the  Saviour  in  suffer- 
ing with  resignation." 

That  solitary  traveller,  who  was  now  enter- 
ing Milan,  was  to  be  to  Aurelius  another 
gaoler's  child. 


XIV. 

"  Come,  then — a  still  small  whisper  in  your  ear — 
He  has  no  hope  who  never  had  a  fear  ; 
And  he  that  never  doubted  of  his  state, 
He  may  perhaps— perhaps  he  may — too  late." 

Aerived  in  the  city,  Monica  found  herself, 
after  an  hour  or  two's  search,  beneath  her 
son's  humble  roof,  clasping  the  erring  one  to 
her  heart.  "I  am  not  a  Manichee  now,"  he 
whispered,  as  if  to  soothe  her  bleeding  spirit. 

"Not  overjoyed,"  he  wrote  afterwards,  "as 
at  something  unexpected,"  she  was  "shaken 
with  no  tumultuous  exultation,  when  she  heard 
that  what  she  daily  in  tears  had  desired  of  the 
Lord,  was  already  so  far  realized." 

"But,"  Aureliiis  proceeded,  anxious  not  to 
encourage  in  her  undue  hopes,  "  though  res- 
cued from  falsehood,  I  have  not  yet  attained 
the  truth;  and  I  almost  despair  of  ever  hnd- 
ing  it,    I  see  not  a  way  open  for  man  to  God." 

[U7] 


118  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

"I  know,"  she  replied,  calmly,  "that  He 
who  has  promised  the  whole,  will  one  day 
give  the  rest.  I  will  see  you  a  Christian  yet, 
before  I  die." 

And  ''so,"  says  Augustine,  "she  poured 
forth  to  Thee,  Fountain  of  Mercies,  more  co- 
pious prayers  and  tears,  that  Thou  wouldst 
hasten  Thy  help,  and  enlighten  my  darkness ; 
for,  as  one  dead,  though  to  be  re-awakened  by 
Thee,  she  carried  me  forth  upon  the  bier  of 
her  thoughts,  that  Thou  mightest  say  to  the 
son  of  the  widow,  '  Young  man,  I  say  unto 
thee,  arise ; '  and  he  should  revive  and  begin 
to  speak,  and  Thou  shouldest  deliver  him  to 
his  mother." 

That  very  evening,  "hastening  eagerly  to 
the  church,  she  hung  upon  the  lips  of  Am- 
brose ; "  for,  by  this  time,  she  knew  that  by 
him  Aurelius  had  been  "brought  to  that 
doubtful  state  of  faith  he  was  now  in ;  " — and 
she  "  loved  him  as  an  angel  of  God."  Aure- 
lius was  at  her  side ;  and,  as  she  listened  in- 
tently to  the  preacher,  she  "prayed  for  tlic 
fountain  of  that  water  which  '  s})i'ingetli  up 
unto   life   everlasting,'" — "anticipating    most 


MEMOIR  OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  119 

confidently,"  that,  "after  the  access,  as  it  were, 
of  a  sharper  fit,  which  phj'sicians  called  'the 
crisis,'  "  her  son  "  would  pass  from  his  present 
sickness  unto  health." 

^  Henry  Marty n,  one  day,  said — "  I  fear  I 
have  not  yet  learned  the  secret  of  true  happi- 
ness— a  poor  and  contrite  spirit."  Aurelius 
Augustine  "  panted  after  honours,  gains,  mar- 
riage." In  these  "desires,"  indeed,  he  had 
"  undergone  most  bitter  crosses,  God  deriding 
him,  and  in  mercy  suffering  nothing  to  grow 
sweet  to  him  which  was  not  Himself.  Still 
his  soul  was  held  fast  in  that  "  bird-lime  of 
death."  "  T  did  not  yet  groan  in  my  prayers," 
he  says,  "that  Thou  wouldest  help  me;  but 
my  spirit  was  wholly  intent  on  learning,  and 
restless  to  dispute.  And  Ambrose,  himself, 
as  the  world  counts  happy,  I  esteemed  a  happy 
man,  whom  personages  so  great  held  in  such 
honour;  only  his  celibacy  seemed  to  me  a 
painful  course." 

On  one  occasion,  as  he  was  "preparing  to 
recite  a  panegyric  of  the  emperor,  wherein  he 
was  to  utter  many  a  lie,  and,  lying,  was  to  bo 
applauded  by  those  who  knew  he  lied,"  and 


120  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

as  his  heart  was  "panting  with  these  anxieties, 
and  boiling  with  the  feverishness  of  consum- 
ing thoughts,"  he  observed  on  the  street  a 
poor  beggar — then,  he  supposed,  "  with  a  full 
bellj," — unusually  "jolly,  and  joking,  and 
joyous."  Turning  to  a  friend  who  was  with 
him,  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  spoke  of 
"  the  many  sorrows  of  our  phrenzies."  "  By 
all  such  efforts  of  ours,"  he  wrote  afterwards, 
referring  to  the  incident,  "  as  those  wherein  I 
then  toiled,  dragging  along,  under  the  goading 
of  desire,  the  burden  of  my  own  wretchedness, 
and,  by  dragging,  augmenting  it,  we  yet  looked 
to  arrive  only  at  that  very  joyousness  whither 
that  beggar-man  had  arrived  before  us  who 
should  never,  perchance,  attain  it.  For,  what 
he  had  obtained  by  means  of  a  few  begged 
pence,  the  same  was  I  plotting  for  by  many  a 
toilsome  turning  and  winding — the  joy  of  a 
temporary  felicity.  For  he,  verily,  had  not 
the  true  joy ;  but  yet  I,  with  those  my  ambi- 
tious dcsis-ns,  was  seekinor  qhq  mucli  less  true. 
And  certainly  he  was  joyous,  I  anxious ;  he 
void  of  care,  I  full  of  fears." 

And  he  added : — "  But,  should  any  ask  me, 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  121 

'  Had  I  rather  bo  merr}^  or  fearful  ?  '  I  would 
answer,  Merrj.  Again,  if  he  asked,  '  Had  I 
rather  be  such  as  he  was,  or  what  I  then 
was  ?  '  I  should  choose  to  be  myself,  though 
worn  with  cares  and  fears, — but  out  of  wrong 
judgment, — for,  was  it  the  truth?  For  I 
ought  not  to  prefer  myself  to  him,  because 
more  learned  than  he, — seeing  I  had  no  joy 
therein,  but  sought  to  please  men  b}^  it — and 
that,  not  to  instruct,  but  simply  to  please. 
Wherefore  also,"  he  concludes,  "Thou  didst 
break  my  bones  with  the  staff  of  Thy  cor- 
rection." 

In  a  little  chamber  of  the  cathedral,  sat, 
daily,  hour  after  hour,  a  holy  man  intent  on 
"some  book," — "his  eye  gliding  over  the 
pages,  and  his  heart  searching  out  the  sense, 
but  his  voice  and  tongue  at  rest."  It  was 
Ambrose,  husbanding  intently  "the  small  in- 
tervals which  he  obtained,  free  from  the  din 
of  others'  business,  for  the  recruiting  of  his 
mind."  Not  a  morning  passed  without  "  mul- 
titudes of  busy  people,  whose  weaknesses  he 
served,"  pressing  one  by  one  into  his  presence 
to  propound  some  hard  question ;  and  it  was 
11 


122  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSriNE. 

noticed  that  rarely  did  any  one  come  out  with- 
out  a  radiant  smile,  as  if  the  good  bishop  had 
the  tongue  of  the  learned,  speaking  a  word  in 
season  to  him  that  was  weary. 

Oftentimes,  after  the  others  were  away,  two 
strangers  would  linger  wistfully  about,  half 
afraid  to  enter,  yet  not  able  to  forego  the  priv- 
ilege of  a  brief  colloquy.  It  was  Monica  and 
Aurelius.  One  day,  the  last  visitor  had  gone, 
and  all  was  now  still,  when  at  length  they 
ventured  in. 

"It  generally  happened,"  he  writes,  alluding 
to  those  interviews,  "  when  we  had  come  (for 
no  man  was  forbidden  to  enter,  nor  was  it  his 
wont  that  any  who  came  should  be  announced 
to  him),  we  saw  him  thus  reading  to  himself, 
and  never  otherwise ;  and,  having  long  sat 
silent  (for  who  durst  intrude  on  one  so  intent?) 
we  were  fain  to  depart,  conjecturing  that  lie 
might  be  loath  to  be  taken  off;  for,  perchance, 
he  dreaded  lest,  if  the  author  he  read  should 
deliver  anything  obscurely,  some  attentive  or 
perplexed  hearer  might  desire  him  to  expound 
it,  or  to  discuss  some  of  the  harder  questions." 
A  brief  moment  was  all  they  durst  to  occupy ; 


MEMOIR  OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE.  123 

but  Ambrose  always  had  a  gracious  word  for 
them.  Monica,  especially,  "  so  fervent  in  spir- 
it," touched  his  tender  heart.  "  When  he  saw 
me,"  says  her  son,  with  the  warmth  of  filial 
affection  so  peculiar  to  him,  "he  often  burst 
forth  into  her  praises,  congratulating  me  that 
I  had  such  a  mother." 

But  Augustine  still  "  doubted,  imagining 
that  the  way  of  life  could  not  be  found  out." 
Not  venturing  to  reveal  to  any  ear — even  to 
Ambrose's  or  to  Monica's — "the  tides  of  his 
feelings,  or  the  abyss  of  his  danger," — he  went 
on  stumbling  in  the  shadow  of  death,  resisting 
Him  who  "had  prepared  the  medicines  of 
faith,  and  had  applied  them  to  the  diseases  of 
the  whole  world,  and  had  given  them  so  great 
authority."  "  I  kept  my  heart,"  he  says,  "from 
assenting  to  anything,  fearing  to  fall  headlong ; 
but,  by  hanging  in  suspense,  I  was  the  worse 
killed."     A  new  expedient  was  attempted. 

In  his  native  town  of  Thegaste,  there  had 
lived  a  young  man,  of  high  parentage  and  of 
^' great  towardliness  to  virtue."  Some  years 
his  junior,  Alypius  had  joined  the  rhetori- 
cian's class,  first  at  Thegaste,  and  afterwards 


124  MEMOIR   OF  Sr.   AUGUSTINE. 

at  Carthage,  a  warm  friendship  springing  up 
between  them,  "  the  pupil  loving  his  master 
much  because  he  seemed  to  him  kind  and 
learned."  Drawn  by  "the  whirlpool  of  Car- 
thasfinian  habits "  into  "  the  madness  of  the 
Circus,"  the  youthful  student  had  been  "mis- 
erably tossed  therein,"  until  his  "deadly  doat- 
ing  upon  it"  seemed  likely  to  "throw  away  so 
great  promise,"  and  "undo  so  good  a  wit." 
One  day,  as  Augustine  "was  sitting  in  his  ac- 
customed place,  wdth  his  scholars  before  him," 
Alypius,  after  a  protracted  absence,  had  "  en- 
tered, greeted  him,  sat  down,  and  applied  his 
mind  to  what  was  then  in  hand."  As  the 
teacher  proceeded,  a  simile  from  the  Circen- 
sian  games  occurred  to  him,  "as  likely  to 
make  what  he  would  convey  pleasanter  and 
plainer,  seasoned  with  biting  mockery  of  those 
Avhom  that  madness  had  enthralled."  "  God  I  " 
says  Augustine,  "  Thou  knowest  that  I  then 
thought  not  of  curing  Alypius  of  that  infec- 
tion; but  he  took  it  wholly  to  himself,  and 
thought  that  I  said  it  simply  for  his  sake. 
And,  whence  another  would  have  taken  occa- 
sion of  offence   with   me,   that   right-minded 


MEMOIR   OF    ST.   AUGUSTINE.  125 

youth  took  as  a  ground  of  being  offended  at 
himself,  and  of  loving  me  more  fervently." 
It  was  God  Himself  "  making  of  his  heart  and 
tongue  burning  coals  by  which  to  set  on  fire 
the  hopeful  mind  thus  languishing,  and  so  to 
cure  it."  "That  his  amendment,"  Augustine 
adds,  "  might  plainly  be  attributed  to  Thyself, 
Thou  effectedst  it  through  me,  but  unknow- 
ingly." That  very  day,  Alypius  had  "  burst 
out  of  the  so  deep  pit  wherein  he  had  been 
willfully  plunged  and  been  blinded  by  its 
wretched  pastimes;  and  "he  had  shaken  his 
mind  with  a  strong  self-command  ;  whereupon 
all  the  filths  of  the  Circensian  pastimes  flew 
ofi"  from  him,  nor  came  he  again  thither." 

But  the  student  had  escaped  the  Circus  only 
to  be  entangled  in  the  Manichean  meshes  of 
his  master.  A  "  shadowy  and  counterfeit  vir- 
tue," "reaching  not  the  depths  of  virtue,"  had 
next  "beguiled  his  soul."  Setting  out  for 
Rome  to  study  law,  and  there  once  more  asso- 
ciated with  his  old  teacher,  he  had  "  become 
involved  more  and  more  hopelessly  in  the 
same  superstition,"  loving  in  the  Manichees 
11* 


126  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

that  "show  of  continency,  which  he  supposed 
true  and  unfeigned." 

One  night,  however,  accosted  on  the  street 
by  "  divers  of  his  acquaintance  and  fellow-stu- 
dents coming  from  dinner,"  they  "  with  a  fa- 
miliar violence  had  haled  him,  vehemently  refus- 
ing and  resisting,  into  the  amphitheatre,  during 
those  cruel  and  deadly  shows."  On  the  way, 
he  had  protested  to  them,  that,  "  though  they 
might  hale  his  body  to  the  place  and  set  it 
there,  they  could  not  and  would  not  force  him 
to  turn  his  mind  or  his  eyes  to  them.  "  I  shall 
then  be  absent,"  he  had  said,  "  while  present, 
and  so  shall  overcome  both  you  and  them." 
"  We  shall  see,"  exclaimed  his  friends,  incred- 
ulously ;  and  they  led  him  on  to  the  charmed 
spot.  A  few  minutes  had  passed,  and  "  the 
whole  place  kindled  with  that  savage  pastime." 
Alypius  "  closing  the  passages  of  his  eyes,"  had 
determined  not  to  suffer  his  mind  to  "range 
abroad  after  such  evils."  "  Would,"  says  Au- 
gustine, "  he  had  stopped  his  ears  also  !  For, 
in  the  fight,  when  one  fell,  a  mighty  cry  of  the 
whole  people  striking  him  strongly,  overcome 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  127 

by  curiosity,  and  as  if  prepared  to  be  superior 
to  it  whatsoever  it  were,  he  opened  his  eyes, 
and  was  stricken  with  a  deeper  wound  in  his 
soul  than  the  other  whom  he  desired  to  behold 
was  in  his  body  ;  and  he  fell  more  miserably 
than  he  upon  whose  fall  that  mighty  noise  was 
raised  which  entered  through  his  cars  and  un- 
locked his  eyes  to  make  way  for  the  striking 
and  beating  down  of  a  soul  bold  rather  than 
resolute,  and  the  weaker  in  that  it  had  pre- 
sumed on  itself  which  ought  to  have  relied  on 
Thee.  For  so  soon,"  Augustine  adds,  "  as  he 
saw  that  blood,  he  therewith  drank  down  sav- 
ageness ;  nor  turned  away,  but  fixed  his  eye, 
drinking  in  phrenzy,  unawares,  and  was  de- 
lighted with  that  guilty  fight,  and  intoxicated 
with  the  bloody  pastime.  Nor  was  he  now  the 
man  he  came,  but  one  of  the  throng  he  came 
unto, — ^yea,  a  true  associate  of  theirs  that 
brought  him  thither.  Why  say  more  ?  He 
beheld,  shouted,  kindled,  carried  thence  with 
him  the  madness  which  should  goad  him  to  re- 
turn not  only  with  them  who  first  drew  him 
thither,  but  also  before  them,  yea,  and  to  draw 
in  others." 


128  MEMOIR  OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

Alypius  had  been  destined  to  the  law, 
though  "more  to  please  his  parents  than  him- 
self." At  Eome  he  had  acted  as  a  petty  j  udge  ; 
and,  one  day,  a  very  powerful  senator,  accus- 
tomed to  "  have  a  thing  allowed  him  which  by 
the  laws  was  unallowed,"  had  appeared  as  a 
suitor,  demanding  with  an  imperious  air  an  in- 
stant decision  in  his  favor.  The  judge  had 
"  resisted:  a  bribe  was  promised  ;  with  all  his 
heart  he  scorned  it :  threats  were  held  out ;  he 
trampled  upon  them  ;  =— all  wondering  at  so  un- 
wonted a  spirit,  which  neither  desired  the 
friendship  nor  feared  the  enmity  of  one  so 
great  and  so  mightily  renowned  for  innumera- 
ble means  of  doing  good  or  evil." 

Augustine  had  not  been  long  in  Milan  when 
he  found  Alypius  once  more  at  his  side.  He 
had  been  appointed  "assessor;"  and  "week 
after  week,"  says  his  friend,  "he  sat  with  an 
uncorruptness  much  wondered  at  by  others, 
he  wondering  at  others  rather  who  could  pre- 
fer gold  to  honesty."  Proof  at  once  against 
"  the  bait  of  covetousncss  and  the  goad  of 
fear,"  the  youthful  lawyer,  already  "faithful 
in  a  little,"  was  one  day  to  be  "faithful  also 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  129 

in  much."  Meanwhile,  "  he,  being  such,"  says 
Augustine,  "  did  at  that  time  cleave  to  me, 
and  with  me  wavered  in  purpose,  what  course 
of  life  was  to  be  taken." 

Another  young  man  also  hung  upon  Augus- 
tine's lips.  A  native  of  Carthage,  and  possess- 
ing an  excellent  family  estate,  Nebridius  had 
left  his  home  and  its  many  pleasant  attractions, 
and,  attracted  by  the  rhetorician,  had  "come 
to  Milan,  for  no  reason  but  that  with  him  he 
might  live  in  a  most  ardent  search  after  truth 
and  wisdom."  "Like  me,"  Augustine  writes, 
"he  sighed;  like  me,  he  wavered, — an  ardent 
searcher  after  true  life,  and  a  most  acute  exam- 
iner of  the  most  difficult  questions." 

The  three  friends — each  groping  darkly  af- 
ter the  same  dim  and  hazy  shadow — determined 
to  combine  their  energies  after  a  fashion  quite 
unique.  They  were  to  retire  into  a  secluded 
retreat — to  live  in  common — to  gaze  with  a 
certain  ecstatic  fervor  upon  the  beautifut  ideal, 
"truth."  "We  thought,"  Augustine  writes, 
describing  the  scheme,  "  there  might  be  some 
ten  persons  in  this  society;  some  of  whom 
Avere  very  rich.      We  had  settled,  also,  that 


130  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

two  annual  officers  should  provide  all  things 
necessary,  the  rest  being  undisturbed."  And, 
for  a  brief  interval,  they  met,  and  speculated,  and 
gazed.  "  Thus  were  there,"  he  says  again,  "the 
mouths  of  three  indigent  persons,  sighing  out 
their  wants  one  to  another."  It  was  a  dreary 
time.  Often,  often,  would  they  groan  out  this 
complaint — "  How  long  shall  these  things  be  ?" 
And  yet,  "  so  saying,  they  forsook  them  not ; 
for,  as  yet,  there  dawned  nothing  certain,  which, 
these  forsaken,  they  might  embrace." 

One  day,  as  he  sat  alone  with  Monica,  con- 
science seemed  to  awake  once  more  from  her 
slumber.  .''Life,"  it  whispered,  "is  vain; 
death  uncertain  ;  if  it  steal  upon  thee  on  a  sud- 
den, in  what  state  shalt  thou  depart  thence? 
and  where  shalt  thou  learn  what  here  thou 
hast  neglected  ?  and  shalt  not  thou  rather  suf- 
fer the  punishment  of  thy  negligence  ?  "Where- 
fore, then,  delay  to  abandon  worldly  hopes, 
and  to  give  thyself  wholly  to  seek  after  God 
and  the  blessed  life?"  The  scheme  of  the 
three  friends  dwindled  into  romance — there 
must  be  something  more  real.     "  This  plan," 


MEMOIR  OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE.  131 

lie  writes,  "winch  had  been  so  well  moulded, 
fell  to  pieces  in  our  hands,  and  was  utterly 
dashed  and  cast  aside."  The  "  philosophi- 
cal union"  had  been  tried  and  found  want- 
ing. 


XY. 


"  None  sends  his  arrow  to  the  mark  in  view, 
Whose  hand  is  feeble,  or  his  aim  untrue." 


Augustine  was  now  in  his  thirty-first  year. 
"  Deceased,"  he  writes,  "  was  that  my  evil  and 
abominable  youth;  and  I  was  passing  into 
early  manhood,  the  more  defiled  by  vain  things 
as  I  grew  in  years." 

Monica,  meanwhile,  intent  on  "  wiling  him 
away  from  his  guilty  passion,"  was  "making  a 
continual  effort  to  have  him  married."  ''  I 
wooed,"  he  says,  "  and  was  promised,  chiefly 
through  my  mother's  pains."  And,  again  : — 
"  A  maiden  was  asked  in  marriage  two  years 
under  the  fit  age,  and,  as  pleasing,  was  waited 
for." 

The  next  step  was,  to  "  tear  his  concubine 
from  his  side,  as  a  hindrance  to  his  marriage." 
His  heart  "  clave  unto  her;"  and,  at  the  part- 
ing, it  "  was  torn,  and  wounded,  and  bleeding." 

[132] 


MEMOIR  OF  ST,   AUGUSTINE.  133 

He  sent  lier  away,  however ;  and  she  returned 
to  Africa,  leaving  with  him  his  "  son  by  her." 
But  scarcely  was  she  gone,  when  "  impatient 
of  delay,"  he  "  procured  another,  though  no 
wife." 

"  What  strange  pollutions  doth  he  wed, 
And  make  his  own !  as  if  none  knew  but  he  1 

No  man  shall  beat  into  his  head, 
That  Thou  within  his  curtains  drawn  canst  see. 
They  are  of  cloth, 
Where  never  yet  came  moth." 

It  seemed  as  if  he  was  "joined  to  his  idols," 
and  as  if  God  must  "  let  him  alone." 

But  conscience  still  whispered  her  behests. 
"  To  Thee,"  says  he,  "  be  praise  !"  Glory  to 
Thee,  Fountain  of  mercies  !  I  was  becoming 
more  miserable,  and  Thou  nearer.  Thy  right 
hand  was  continually  ready  to  pluck  me  out 
of  the  mire,  and  to  wash  me  thoroughly ;  and 
I  knew  it  not ;  nor  did  anything  call  me  back 
from  a  yet  deeper  gulf  of  carnal  pleasures  but 
the  fear  of  death  and  of  Thy  judgment  to  come 
— which,  amid  all  my  changes,  never  departed 
from  my  breast." 

And  he  adds: — "  While  these  winds  shifted 
12 


134  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

and  drove  my  heart  this  way  and  that,  time 
passed  on,  and  I  delayed  to  turn  to  the  Lord, 
deferring  from  day  to  day  to  live  in  Thee  and 
to  die  to  myself.  Loving  a  happy  life,  I  feared 
it  in  its  own  abode,  and  sought  it  by  fleeing 
from  it.  O  crooked  paths  !  Woe  to  the  au- 
dacious soul,  which  hoped,  by  forsaking  Thee, 
to  gain  some  better  thing !  Turned  it  hath, 
and  turned  again,  upon  back,  sides,  and  belly, 
yet  all  was  painful ;  and  Thou  alone  rest." 

A  new  vanity  now  harrassed  him.  He  had 
heard,  from  the  teaching  of  Ambrose,  that 
"  the  cause  of  our  doing  ill"  was  "free-will," 
and  that  we  "  suffered  ill"  because  of  God's 
"just  judgment."  Not  able  "  clearly  to  discern 
it,"  and  endeavouring  to  draw  his  soul's  vision 
out  of  that  deep  pit,"  he  "  was  again  plunged 
therein,  and,  endeavouring  often,  was  plunged 
back  as  often." 

One  day  a  gleam  of  light  broke  in.  "  I  saw," 
says  he,  "  as  well  that  I  had  a  will,  as  that  I 
lived :  when,  then,  I  did  will  or  nill  anything, 
I  was  most  sure  that  none  other  than  myself 
did  will  and  nill ;  and  I  all  but  saw  that  there 
was  the  cause  of  my  sin.'' 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  135 

But  again  an  eclipse  of  faitH  came.  "  I  said, 
"Who  made  me  ?  Did  not  my  God,  who  is  not 
only  good,  but  goodness  itself?  Whence, 
then,  came  I  to  will  evil  and  nill  good  ?  who 
set  this  in  me,  and  engrafted  into  me  this  plant 
of  bitterness,  seeing  I  was  wholly  formed  by 
my  most  sweet  God?  If  the  devil  were  the 
author,  whence  that  same  devil  ?  And,  if  he 
also,  by  his  own  perverse  will,  of  a  good  angel 
became  a  devil,  whence,  again,  came  in  him 
that  evil  will  whereby  he  became  a  devil,  see- 
ing the  whole  nature  of  angels  was  made  by 
that  most  good  Creator  ?" 

"  Heaven  from  above,  and  conscience  from  within, 
Cried  in  his  startled  ear — Abstain  from  sin  I" 

But  "his  deeds  were  evil;"  and  he  hated 
the  light  which  condemned  them. 

"Thus  men  go  wrong  with  an  ingenious  skill. 
Bend  the  straight  rule  to  their  own  crooked  will ; 
And  with  a  clear  and  shining  lamp  supplied, 
First  put  it  out,  then  take  it  for  a  guide." 

Conscience  once  more  startled  him.  "  I  had 
observed  of  other  sceptics,"  says  he,  "  that, 
through  enquiring  the  origin  of  evil,  they  were 


136  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

filled  with  evil.  I  had  sought '  whence  is  evil  ?' 
and  had  sought  in  an  evil  way,  not  seeing  the 
evil  in  mj  very  search.  But  now  again  I  was 
overcharged  with  most  gnawing  cares,  lest  I 
should  die  ere  I  had  found  the  truth.  What 
were  the  pangs  of  my  teeming  heart  !  what 
groans,  O  my  God  !  yet  even  then  were  Thine 
ears  open,  and  I  knew  it  not:  and  when,  in 
silence,  I  vehemently  sought,  '  whence  was 
evil  ?'  those  silent  contritions  of  my  soul  were 
strong  cries  unto  Thy  mercy.  Thou  knewest 
what  I  suffered,  and  no  man.  For  what  was 
that  which  was  thence  through  my  tongue  dis- 
tilled into  the  ears  of  my  most  familiar  friends  ? 
Did  the  whole  tumult  of  my  soul,  for  which 
neither  time  nor  utterance  sufl&ced,  reach 
them  ?  Yet  went  up  the  whole  to  Thy  hear- 
ing, all  which  I  roared  out  from  the  groanings 
of  my  heart.  These  things  had  grown  out  of 
my  wound ;  for  Thou  '  humbledst  the  proud 
like  one  that  is  wounded.'  By  inward  goads 
didst  Thou  rouse  me,  that  I  should  be  ill  at 
ease  until  Thou  wert  manifested  to  ni}-  inward 
sight." 

A  new  snare  entangled  him.      Procuring, 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  137 

"by  means  of  one  puffed  up  Avith  most  unnat- 
ural pride,"  "  certain  books  of  the  Platonists," 
■ — lie  was  ensnared  into  a  search  for  "incorpo- 
real truth," — ^believing  that  the  Word,"  Avhich 
had  been  "in  the  beginning  with  God,"  was 
"  the  light  of  men,"  but  not  believing  that  "  the 
Word  was  made  flesh."  And  for  a  little  while 
it  seemed  as  if  he  had  grasped  something,  and 
as  if  his  heart  had  found  repose.  "  He  that 
knows  the  Truth,"  he  would  whisper  to  him- 
self complacently,  "  knows  what  that  Light  is ; 
and  he  that  knows  it  knows  eternity.  Love 
knoweth  it.  O  Truth  who  art  Eternity !  and 
Love  who  art  Truth !  and  Eternity  who  art 
Love !  Thou  art  my  God ;  to  thee  do  I  sigh 
night  and  day." 

But  a  few  months  passed,  and  these  sigh- 
ings,  apparently  so  ethereal  and  so  devout,  left 
him  desolate  as  before.  "  I  prated,"  says  he, 
"as  one  well  skilled;  but,  had  I  not  sought 
Thy  way  in  Christ  our  Saviour,  I  had  proved 
to  be  not  skilled,  but  killed.  For,  now,  I  had 
begun  to  wish  to  seem  wise,  being  filled  with 
mine  own  punishment ;  yet  I  did  not  mourn, 
but  scorn,  puffed  up  with  knowledge.  For 
12^ 


138  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

where  was  that  charity,  building  upon  the 
'foundation'  of  humiUty,  'which  is  Christ 
Jesus?'" 

The  void  in  that  heart  could  be  filled  only 
by  a  personal  Christ ;  and  to  Him  he  now  be- 
gan, darkly  and  uncertainly,  to  grope  his  way. 
"  Thy  AYord  was  the  One,"  said  he,  "  the  Eter- 
nal One.  Truth  built  for  itself  in  this  lower 
world  a  lowly  habitation  of  our  clay,  whereby 
to  abase  from  themselves  such  as  would  be 
subdued,  and  to  bring  them  over  to  Himself, — 
allaying  their  swelling,  and  fomenting  their 
love,  to  the  end  they  might  go  on  no  further 
in  self-confidence,  but  rather  consent  to  become 
weak,  seeing  before  their  feet  the  Divinity  weak 
by  taking  our  coats  of  skin,  and,  wearied,  might 
cast  themselves  down  upon  it,  and  it,  rising, 
might  lift  them  up."  And  yet  he  had  not 
rest.  "A  narrow  way,"  he  says,  "presented 
itself  from  w^hose  straitness  I  shrank."  That 
"  narrow  way"  was  the  atoning  sacrifice — the 
blood  of  the  slain  Lamb.  He  could  not  brook 
the  humiliation  of  going  down  into  the  dust  as 
a  guilty,  condemned  sinner  ;  and  therefore  the 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  139 

blood  had  no  attractions  for  him — the  Cross 
was  still  "  foolish nes.s." 

Thus,  from  "  the  mountain's  shaggy  top"  he 
seemed  to  "  see  the  land  of  peace ; "  but  he 
"found  no  way  thither, — in  vain  essaying 
through  ways  unpassable,  opposed  and  beset 
by  fugitives  and  deserters  under  their  captain 
the  lion  and  the  dragon." 

"  Nothing  but  drouth  and  dearth,  but  bush  and  brake, 
Which  way  soe'erl  look,  I  see.-' 


XVI. 

"  Who,  when  groat  trials  come, 
Nor  seeks,  nor  shuns  them  ;  but  doth  calmly  stay, 
Till  he  the  thing  and  the  example  weigh  : 

All  being  brought  into  a  sum, 
Whiit place  or  person  calls  for,  he  doth  pay." 

There  lived  in  those  days,  at  Rome,  a  grave, 
learned  man,  "  skilled  in  the  liberal  sciences,'' 
and  so  eminently  successful  as  a  "Ehetoric 
Professor,"  that  the  rare  honour  had  been 
decreed  to  him  of  a  statue  in  the  Forum.  For 
years,  he  had  been  a  devoted  worshipper  of 
idols,  "  defending  with  a  thundering  eloquence" 
the  superstitious  rites, — until  now,  in  his  old 
age,  Victorinus  might  be  seen  poring  most 
studiously  over  the  Christian  Scriptures  which 
a  friend  had  placed  before  him. 

"  Understand,"  said  he,  one  morning,  to  his 
friend,  "  that  I  am  already  a  Christian."  "  I 
will  not  believe  it,"  was  the  reply,  "nor  will  I 

[140] 


MEMOIil   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  141 

rank  jou  among  Christians,  unless  I  see  you 
in  the  Church,  of  Christ."  ''Do  walls,  then, 
make  Christians?"  lie  would  answer,  half  in 
jest,  and  half  trembling;  for  he  "feared  to 
offend  his  friends,  proud  demon -worshippers, 
from  the  height  of  whose  Babylonian  dignity, 
as  from  '  cedars  of  Libanus'  which  the  Lord 
had  not  yet  broken  down,  he  supposed  the 
w^eight  of  enmity  would  fall  upon  him." 

Some  months  passed ;  and,  one  day  calling 
upon  Simplicianus,  he  said,  suddenly — "Go 
we  to  chui'ch ;  I  wish  to  avow  myself  a  Chris- 
tian." At  once  the  two  set  out,  his  friend 
scarce  able  to  "  contain  himself  for  joy."  As 
they  hastened  along,  the  venerable  Roman  told, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  how,  after  long  and 
earnest  musings,  the  light  had  at  last  dawned, 
and  how  he  "  feared  to  be  denied  by  Christ 
before  the  holy  angels,  should  he  now  be  afraid 
to  confess  Him  before  men."  Arrived  at  the 
humble  place  of  meeting,  he  gave  in  his  name 
for  baptism,  "submitting  his  neck  to  the  yoke 
of  liumility,  and  subduing  his  forehead  to  the 
reproach  of  the  cross." 

It  was  the  custom  at  Rome  for  the  catechu- 


142  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

men  to  ascend  an  elevated  platform,  and,  in 
the  sight  of  all  the  people,  to  deliver  a  profes- 
sion of  his  faith.  When  Victorinns  came  for- 
ward, the  brethren  offered  to  receive  his  profes- 
sion in  private — a  concession  at  times  made  to 
"such  as  seemed  likely  through  bashfulness  to 
be  alarmed."  But,  "  choosing  rather  to  profess 
his  salvation  in  the  presence  of  the  holy  multi- 
tude," he  boldly  though  meekly  went  forward, — 
"each,  as  he  recognised  him,  whispering  his 
name  to  his  neighbour  with  the  voice  of  con- 
gratulation." As  he  stood  in  front  of  the  as- 
sembl}^,  "  there  ran  a  low  murmur  through  all 
the  mouths  .of  the  rejoicing  multitude — 'Yictori- 
nns !  Yictorinus  !' "  "  Sudden  was  the  bui'st  of 
rapture,"  writes  the  quaint  chronicler,  "  that 
they  saw  him ;  suddenly  were  they  hushed,  that 
they  might  hear  him.  He  pronounced  the  true 
faith  with  an  excellent  boldness ;  and  all  wished 
to  draw  him  into  their  very  heart:  yea,  by 
their  love  and  joy  they  drew  him  thither ;  such 
were  the  bands  wherewith  they  drew  him. 
That  day  Yictorinus  put  on  Christ,  "  Eome 
wondering,  the  Church  rejoicing." 

A  few  months  afterwards,  Simplicianus  ar- 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  143 

rived  at  Milan;  and,  one  morning,  Augustine 
was  relating  to  him  "  the  mazes  of  his  wander- 
ings." He  "seemed  to  me,"  Aurelius  writes, 
"  a  good  servant  of  Thine ;  and  Thy  grace 
shone  in  him."  Setting  before  him  his  anxi- 
eties, he  entreated  him  to  "tell  him,  out  of  the 
store  of  his  experience,  which  was  the  fittest 
way  for  one  in  his  case  to  walk  in  God's  paths." 
Simplicianus  related  to  him  the  story  of  the 
Eoman  Professor's  trial  and  triumph  of  faith. 
"And  immediately,"  says  Augustine,  "I  was 
on  fire  to  imitate  him. 

"But,"  interposed  his  friend,  "there  was  a 
law  made  in  the  reign  of  Julian  forbidding  any 
Chiistian  to  teach  the  liberal  sciences  or  oratory ; 
and  Victorinus,  obeying  this  law,  gave  up 
all  for  Christ."  Augustine  was  not  damped. 
"  When  I  heard,"  he  writes,  "  how  he  chose 
rather  to  give  over  the  wordy  school,  than 
Thy  Word,  by  which  Thou  '  makest  eloquent 
the  tongues  of  the  dumb,'  he  seemed  to  me  not 
more  resolute  than  blessed,  in  thus  having 
found  opportunity  to  wait  on  Thee  only. 
Which  thing,"  he  adds,  "I  was  sighing  for, 


144  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

bound  as  I  was,  not  with  another's  irons,  but 
by  my  own  iron  will." 

He  had  "heard  from  Ambrose"  how  "the 
flesh  lusteth  against  the  spirit,  and  the  spirit 
against  the  flesh;"  and  now  he  "understood, 
by  his  own  experience,  what  he  had  heard." 
"My  will,"  says  he,  "the  enemy  held;  and 
thence  he  had  made  a  chain  for  me,  and  bound 
me.  t^For  of  a  froward  will  was  a  lust  made ; 
and  a  lust,  served,  became  custom ;  and  custom, 
not  resisted,  became  necessity.  By  which  links, 
as  it  were,  joined  together  (whence  I  called  it  a 
chain),  a  hard  bondage  held  me  enthralled. 
But  that  new  will,  which  had  begun  to  be  in 
me — ^freely  to  serve  Thee  and  to  wish  to  enjoy 
Thee,  0  God,  the  only  assured  pleasantness — • 
was  not  yet  able  to  overcome  my  former  wilful- 
ness, strengthened  by  age.  Thus  my  two 
wills — one  new,  and  the  other  old,  one  carnal, 
the  other  spiritual — struggled  within  me ;  and, 
by  their  discord,  they  undid  my  soul." 

And  he  adds : — "  Myself,  verily,  either  way; 
yet,  more  myself  in  that  which  I  approved  in 
myself,  than  in  that  which  in  myself  I  disap- 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    ACGL'STIXE.  145 

proved.  For,  in  this  last,  it  was  now  for  the 
more  part  not  myself  :  because,  in  much,  1 
rather  endured  against  my  will,  than  acted 
willingly.  But  I,  still  under  service  to  the 
earth,  refused  to  fight  under  Thy  banner,  fear- 
ing as  much  to  be  freed  of  all  encumbrances  as 
we  should  fear  to  be  encumbered  with  it. 
Thus,  with  the  baggage  of  this  present  world 
was  I  held  down  pleasantly  as  in  sleep ;  and 
the  thoughts  wherein  I  meditated  on  Thee 
were  like  the  efforts  of  such  as  would  awake, 
who  yet,  overcome  with  a  heavy  drowsiness, 
are  again  drenched  therein." 

One  morning,  he  was  at  church;  and  a  vast 
concourse  was  there,  "  one  going  this  way,  and 
another  that  way."  Anew  the  feeling  rose  in 
him,  '^Why  not  surrender  my  soul  to  God? 
why  lead  any  longer  a  secular  life?" And,  for  a 
day  or  two,  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  "escaped 
like  a  bird  out  of  the  snare  of  the  fowler." 
But,  once  more,  he  gave  way.  "  Still  I  was 
enthralled,"  says  he,  "  with  the  love  of  women; 
and,  because  of  this  alone,  I  was  tossed  up  and 
down  in  all  beside,  faint  and  wasted  with 
withering  cares.  Thou  calledst  to  me,  *  Awake, 
18 


146  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTIKE. 

thou  that  slecpest,  and  arise  from  the  dead,  and 
Christ  shall  give  thee  light;'  but  I  had  nothing 
to  answer.     Thou  didst  on  all  sides  shew  me 
that  what  thou  saidst  was  true;   but  I,  con- 
victed by  the   truth,  had  only  those  dull  and 
drowsy   words,    'Anon I    anon  1 '    'presently!' 
leave  me  but  '  a  little ! '  As  no  one  would  sleep 
for  ever,   and,  in  all  men's  sober  judgment, 
waking  is  better, — yet  a  man  for  the  most  part, 
feeling  a  heavy  lethargy  in  all  his  limbs,  defers 
to  shake  off  sleep,  and,  though  half  displeased, 
yet,  even  after  it  is  time  to  rise,  with  pleasure 
yields  to  it ;  so,  was  I  assured  that  much  better 
were  it  for  me  to  give  myself  up  to  Thy  charity 
than  to  give  myself  over  to  mine  own  cupidity : 
but,  though  the  former  course  satisfied  me  and 
gained  the  mastery,  the  latter  pleased  me  and 
held  me  mastered.    For,  '  presently  I  presently !' 
had  no  present ;   and  my  '  little  while'  went  on 
for  a  long  while." 

The  day-dawn,  however,  was  now  at  hand ; 
and  its  rising  we  proceed  to  trace. 

"  What  wonders  shall  I  feel,  when  I  shall  see, 
Thy  full-eyed  love, 
When  Thou  shalt  look  me  out  of  pain  I" 


XVII. 

"  What  pearl  is  it  that  rich  men  cannot  buy, 
That  learning  is  too  proud  to  gather  up?" 

We  are  in  a  chamber  in  Milan,  where  often- 
times, of  an  evening,  after  the  business  of  the 
day,  three  friends  assemble,  to  recount  their 
mutual  sorrows  and  to  whisper  in  one  another's 
ears  their  sighings.  By  this  time,  the  "  books 
of  the  Platonists"  have  been  exchanged  for  the 
"  Epistles  of  St.  Paul ;"  and,  this  particular 
night,  as  Augustine  is  sitting  alone,  with  the 
new  instructor  before  him,  Alypius  enters, 
wearied  and  worn  out,  being  "just  released 
from  his  third  sitting  that  day  to  sell  his  coun- 
sel." They  are  waiting  for  N"ebriclius  to  join 
the  little  circle,  when  an  unusual  knock  at  the 
door  startles  them,  and  the  suspicious  book  is 
hastily  closed.  A  few  moments  pass;  and 
there  is  announced  "  a  high  dignitary  of  the 
Imperial  Court,  one  Pontitianus,"  whom  they 

[1471 


148  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

recognise  as  "a  couatrj-mau  fi'om  Africa"  but 
have  only  once  or  twice  met. 

After  the  customary  salutation,  the  visitor 
sits  down  beside  them  at  "a  table  for  some 
game ;"  but  they  have  not  played  many  min- 
utes, before  his  eye  glances  at  the  book  which 
is  lying  upon  it,  and  which  the  friends  have 
just  so  abruptly  shut.  Thinking  it  ''  one  of 
the  books  which  he  once  wore  himself  out  in 
teaching,"  he  opens  it  with  a  heavy  sigh ;  but, 
"finding  it,  contraiy  to  his  expectation,  the 
Apostle  Paul,"  he  smiles  significantly — Augus- 
tine blushes — and,  before  he  can  utter  a  word 
of  apology,  the  stranger  relieves  his  embar- 
rassment by  expressing  his  "joy  and  wonder 
that  he  has  on  a  sudden  found  this  book,  and 
this  only,  before  their  eyes." 

Pontitianus  was  "a  saint  in  Caesar's  house- 
hold;" and,  that  evening,  he  told  the  wonder- 
ing friends  the  story  of  God's  dealings  with 
him. 

One  afternoon,  at  Triers,  as  the  Emperor 
and  his  Court  were  in  the  Circus,  "taken  up 
with  the  games,"  the  courtier  had  stolen  away, 
with  three  companions — "agents   for  public 


ME.MOIll   OF  ST.    AUGUSTINE.  149 

affairs" — to  "  walk  in  gardens  near  the  city- 
walls."  Two  and  two,  they  had  sauntered  on, 
until  "one  of  the  couples,"  "lighting  upon  a 
certain  cottage,  inhabited  by  certain  saints 
'  poor  in  spirit  of  whom  was  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,'  "  found  a  little  book  narrating  the 
heavenly  life  of  a  saint  not  long  departed. 
This  they  began  to  read  ;  and  they  "  admired 
and  kindled  at  it,"  until,  "  filled  with  an  holy 
love  and  a  sober  shame,"  one  of  them,  "  in 
anger  with  himself,  cast  his  eyes  upon  his 
friend,  saying,  'Tell  me,  I  pray  thee,  what 
would  we  attain  by  all  these  labours  of  ours  ? 
what  aim  we  at?  what  serve  we  for?  can  our 
hopes  at  court  rise  higher  than  to  be  the  Em- 
peror's favourites?  and,  in  this,  what  is  there 
not  brittle  and  full  of  perils?  and  by  how 
many  perils  arrive  we  at  a  greater  peril  ?  and 
when  arrive  we  thither?  But  a  friend  of 
God,  if  I  wish  it,  I  become  now  at  once.'  " 

It  was  the  turning  point  of  his  course.  "  In 
pain  with  the  travail  of  a  new  life,  he  turned 
his  ejes  again  upon  the  book — read  on — was 
changed  inwardly — and  his  mind  was  stripped 
of  the  world."  "  Now,"  said  he,  after  a  little, 
13-^ 


150  IIEMOIII   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

turning  to  his  companion,  "  I  have  broken 
loose  from  those  onr  hopes,  and  am  resolved 
to  serve  God ;  and  this,  from  this  honr,  in  this 
place,  I  begin  upon.  If  thou  likest  not  to 
imitate  me,  oppose  not."  "I  will  cleave  to 
thee,"  was  the  reply,  "  to  partake  so  glorious  a 
reward,  so  glorious  a  service." 

It  was  now  late  in  the  evening;  and  the 
other  two  friends,  who  had  been  walking  in 
other  parts  of  the  garden,  arrived  at  the  cot- 
tage in  search  of  them.  With  full  hearts,  the 
two  related  what  had  passed.  "  Our  purpose 
is  settled,"  said  they ;  "  our  will  is  fixed ;  and, 
if  you  will  not  join  us,  pray  do  not  molest  us." 
"Alas!  "  was  the  answer,  *' what  shall  we  do? 
we  envy  you  your  choice ;  and  oh !  pray  for 
us."  And  so,  "nothing  altered  from  their 
former  selves,  and  with  hearts  lingering  on 
the  earth,"  they  betook  themselves  to  the 
palace. 

As  the  story  proceeded,  Augustine  fdt  as  if 
God  were  searching  him  through  and  through. 
"  Thou,  0  Lord,  while  he  was  speaking,"  says 
he,  "didst  turn  me  round  towards  myself, 
taking  me  from  behind  my  back,  where  I  had 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  151 

placed  me,  unwilling  to  observe  mjself,  and 
setting  me  before  my  face,  that  I  might  see 
how  foul  I  was — how  crooked  and  defiled,  be- 
spotted  and  ulcerous."  He  "  beheld,  and  stood 
aghast ;"  and  "  whither  to  flee  from  himself, 
he  found  not."  If  he  sought  to  turn  his  eye 
from  off  himself,  Pontitianus  went  on  with  his 
relation;  and  "Thou,"  he  writes  again,  "didst 
set  me  over  against  myself,  and  thrustedst  me 
before  mine  eyes,  that  '  I  might  find  ont  mine 
iniquity,  and  hate  it.'  I  had  known  it,  but 
had  made  as  thougli  I  saw  it  not — had  winked 
at  it,  and  forgotten  it." 

Slight  convictions  make  slight  conversions.  ) 
But,  if  ever  the  foundations  were  laid  deep  in 
a  soul,  it  was,  in  those  days,  in  the  heart 
of  Augustine.  "Now,"  says  he,  "the  more 
ardently  I  loved  those  whose  healtliftd  affec- 
tions had  led  them  to  resign  themselves  whollv 
to  the  Lord  to  be  cured,  the  more  did  I  abhor 
myself  wdien  compared  with  them.  For  many 
of  my  years — some  twelve — had  now  i-an  out 
since  my  nineteenth,  when,  upon  the  reading 
of  Cicero's  '  Ilortensius,'  I  was  stirred  to  an 
earnest  love  of  wisdom ;  and  still  I  was  defer- 


152  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

ring  to  reject  raere  earthly  felicit}^,  and  to  give 
mj^self  to  searcli  out  that  whereof  not  the  find- 
iiig  only,  but  the  very  search,  was  to  be  pre- 
ferred to  the  treasures  and  kingdoms  of  the 
world  though  already  found,  and  to  the  pleas- 
ures of  the  body  though  spread  around  me  at 
my  will.  But  I  wretched,  most  wretched,  in 
the  very  commencement  of  my  early  youth, 
had  begged  chastity  of  Thee,  saying,  '  Give 
me  chastity  and  continency,  only  not  yet.''  For 
I  feared  lest  Thou  shouldest  hear  me  soon,  and 
cure  me  of  the  disease  of  concupiscence,  which 
I  wished  to  have  satisfied  rather  than  extin- 
guished. And  I  had  thought,  that  I  therefore 
deferred  from  da}^  to  day  to  reject  the  hopes 
of  this  world  and  to  follow  Thee  only,  because 
there  did  not  appear  aught  certain  Vv^hithcr  to 
direct  iny  course.  And  now  was  the  day  come 
wherein  I  was  to  be  laid  bare  to  myself,  and 
niy  conscience  was  to  upbraid  me." 

Yet  the  delay,  the  anxiety,  the  stingings, 
the  protracted  law-work,  had  not  fitted  him 
for  coming  to  Christ.  Others,  who  "neither 
so  wore  themselves  out  with  seeking  it,  nor  for 
ten  years  and  more  were  thinking  tliereon," 


ME.MOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUbTINE.  153 

had  had  "  their  shoulders  lightened,  and  had 
received  wings  to  fly  away."  As  for  himself, 
his  ten  years'  gloomy  groping  had  only  left 
him  more  guilty  and  more  self-condemned. 
"  Thus  was  I  gnawed  within,"  he  writes,  "and 
exceedingly  confounded  with  an  horrible 
shame,  while  Pontitianus  was  speaking.  And 
he,  having  brought  to  a  close  his  tale  and  the 
business  he  came  for,  went  his  way;  and  I 
into  myself." 

As  the  stranger  departed,  Augustine  and  his 
friend  sat  for  a  few  moments  silent.  "What 
ails  us?"  at  last  exclaimed  Aurelius,  turning 
to  the  other  (his  "forehead,  cheeks,  eyes,  col- 
our, tone  of  voice,"  expressing,  more  emphati- 
cally than  the  words  he  uttered,  that  "  great 
contention  of  his  inward  dwelling  which  he 
liad  strongly  raised  against  his  soul  in  the 
chamber  of  his  heart");  "what  is  it?  what 
heardest  thou  ?  The  unlearned  start  up  and 
'take  heaven  by  force;'  and  we  —  with  our 
learning  and  without  heart — lo,  where  we  ^^^al- 
low  in  flesh  and  blood !  Are  ayc  ashamed  to 
follow,  because  others  are  gone  before?  and 
not  ashamed  to  refuse  even  to  follow  ?"    Some 


154.  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE 

such  words  he  uttered;  and  his  "fever  of 
mind"  tore  him  away,  —  Alypius  gazing  in 
mute  amazement,  as  his  friend  suddenly  disap- 
peared. 

The  house  they  lodged  in  had  a  little  garden ; 
and,  as  the  master  of  the  house  Avas  absent, 
they  could  always  reckon  on  finding  in  the 
garden  a  quiet  retreat.  "  Thither,"  says  he, 
"  the  tumult  of  my  breast  hurried  me,  where 
no  man  might  hinder  the  hot  contention 
wherein  I  had  engaged  with  myself,  until  it 
should  end  as  Thou  knewest — I  knew  not. 
Only  I  was  healthfully  distracted,  and  dying, 
to  live ;  knowing  what  evil  thing  I  was,  and 
not  knowing  what  good  thing  I  was  shortly  to 
become.  What  said  I  not  against  myself? 
With  what  scourges  of  condemnation  lashed  I 
not  my  soul,  that  it  might  follow  me  striving 
to  go  after  Thee  !  Yet  it  drew  back ;  refused, 
but  excused  not  itself.  All  arguments  were 
spent  and  confuted;  there  remained  a  mute 
shrinking ;  and  she  feared,  as  she  would  death, 
to  be  restrained  from  the  flux  of  that  custom 
whereby  she  was  wasting  to  death." 

Seated  beneath  a  shady  tree,    "as  far  re- 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  155 

moved  as  might  be  from  the  house,"  he  Avas 
joined,  ere  long,  by  Aljpius;  for  "how,"  says 
he,  "  could  he  forsake  me  so  disturbed  ?"  Bat 
his  friend's  presence  did  not  lessen  his  privacy ; 
and  again  he  fell  into  the  most  bitter  self- 
reproach.  "I  was  troubled  in  spirit,"  he 
writes,  "  most  vehemently  indignant,  that  I 
entered  not  into  Thy  will  and  covenant,  O  my 
God,  which  'all  my  bones  cried  out'  unto  me 
to  enter,  and  praised  it  to  the  skies.  And 
therein  we  entor  not  by  ships,  or  by  chariots, 
or  by  feet — no,  r  or  move  so  far  as  I  had  come 
from  the  house  to  that  place  where  we  were 
sitting.  For,  not  to  go  only,  but  to  go  in 
thither,  was  nothing  else  than  to  will  to  go, 
but  to  will  resolutely  and  thoroughly ;  not  to 
turn  and  toss,  this  way  and  that,  a  maimed  and 
half-divided  will,  struggling,  with  one  part 
sinking  as  another  rose." 

It  was  xhe  throe  of  the  new  bii'th ;  and  no 
Avonder  he  felt  a  bitter  pang.  "In  the  very 
fever  of  my  irresoluteness,"  he  says,  "  I  made 
with  my  body  many  such  motions  as  men 
sometimes  will,  but  cannot,  if  either  they  have 
not  the  limbs,  or  these  be  bound  with  bands, 


156  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

weakened  with  infirmity,  or  nny  other  way 
hindered.  Thus,  if  I  tore  my  hair,  or  beat  my 
forehead — if,  locking  my  lingei's,  I  clasped  my 
knee, — I  willed,  I  did  it;  but  I  might  have 
willed  and  not  done  it,  if  the  power  of  motion 
in  my  limbs  had  not  obeyed.  So,  many  things 
then  I  did,  when  '  to  will'  was  not  itself  '  to  be 
able;'  and  I  did  not  what  both  I  longed  m- 
comparably  more  to  do,  and  which  soon  after, 
when  I  should  will,  I  should  be  able  to  do; 
because,  soon  after,  when  I  should  will,  I 
should  will  thoroughly.  For,  in  these  things, 
the  ability  was  one  with  the  will,  and  to  will 
was  to  do ;  and  yet  was  it  not  done :  and  more 
easily  did  my  body  obey  the  weakest  willing 
of  my  soul,  in  moving  its  limbs  at  its  nod,  than 
the  soul  obeyed  itself  to  accomplish  in  the  will 
alone  this-  its  momentous  will." 

By  those  painful  teachings,  he  was  learning, 
in  these  moments,  lessons  which  were  to  be 
graven  on  his  heart  for  ever.  "  Whence  this 
monstrousness  ?"  he  enquires,  looking  back  on 
that  crisis  of  his  inner  life ;  "  and  to  what  end  ? 
Let  Tlij'  mercy  gleam  that  I  may  ask, — if  so  be 
t;he  secret  penalties  of  men,  and  tliose  darkest 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  157 

pangs  of  the  sons  of  Adam,  may  perliaps 
answer  me.  Whence  is  this  monstrousness  ? 
and  to  what  end?  The  mind  commands  the 
body,  and  it  obeys  instantly;  the  mind  com- 
mands itself,  and  is  resisted.  The  mind  com- 
mands the  liand  to  be  moved ;  and  such  readi- 
ness is  there,  that  command  is  scarce  distinct 
from  obedience.  Yet  the  mind  is  mind,  the 
hand  is  body.  The  mind  commands  the  mind — 
its  own  self — to  will ;  and  yet  it  doth  not. 

Whence  this  monstrousness?"  he  again 
asks ;  "  and  to  what  end  ?  It  commands  itself, 
I  say,  to  will,  and  would  not  command  unless 
it  willed ;  and  what  it  commands,  is  not  done. 
But  it  willelh  not  entirely  ;  therefore  doth  it 
not  command  entirely.  For,  so  far  forth  it 
commandeth  as  it  willeth ;  and,  so  far  forth  is 
the  thing  commanded  not  done,  as  it  willeth 
not.  For  the  will  commandeth  that  tliere  be  a 
will — not  another,  but  itself.  But  it  doth  not 
command  entirely ;  therefore,  what  it  com- 
mandeth, is  not.  For,  were  the  will  entire,  it 
would  not  even  command  it  to  be,  because  it 
would  already  be.  It  is,  therefore,  no  mon- 
14 


158  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

strousness  partly  to  will,  partly  to  nill, — but  a 
disease  of  the  mind,  that  it  doth  not  wholly 
rise,  by  truth  up-borne,  by  custom  down- 
borne." 

God  was  tutoring  him  thus  for  his  life-work, 
though  he  knew  it  not.  He  was  rooting  up 
from  his  heart  "the  mandrake  Pride,"  though 
it  "cost  him  groans  and  writhings;"  and,  one 
day,  he  was  to  utter  the  teachings  in  accents 
whose  echo  has  not  to  this  hour  died  away  on 
the  ear  of  Christendom.    Another  has  written — 

"  Fall  of  rebellion,  I  would  die 
Or  fight,  or  travel,  or  deny- 
That  Thou  hast  aught  to  do  with  me. 
Oh,  tame  my  heart  I 
It  is  Thy  highest  art. 
To  captivate  strongholds  to  Thee." 

And,  again — 

"  Oh,  smooth  my  rugged  heart,  and  there 
Engrave  Thy  rev'rend  love  and  fear  1 
Or  make  a  new  one ;   since  the  old 
Is  sapless  gro\vn, 
And  a  much  fitter  stone 
To  hide  my  dust,  than  Thee  to  hold." 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  159 

These  liumbling  truths  Augustine  was  now 
reading,  not  in  books,  but  off  the  living  tablet 
of  his  own  inmost  heart ;  and  how  could  such 
a  man  afterwards  fail  to  write  confusion  upon 
upon  all  human  pride  ? 


XVIII. 

"  There  was  I  found  by  One  who  had  Himself 
Been  hurt  by  the  archers.    In  His  side  He  bore, 
And  in  His  hands  and  feet,  the  cruel  scars  ; 
With  gentle  force  soliciting  the  darts, 
He  drew  them  forth,  and  hcal'd,  and  bade  me  live." 

As  lie  sat,  tlmt  evening,  beneath  the  tree,  his 
bewildered  soul  groped  its  last  weary  wander- 
ings in  the  region  and  shadow  of  death. 

He  writes : — "  Thus  soul-sick  was  I,  and 
tormented,  accusing  myself  much  more  severely 
than  my  wont,  rolling  and  turning  me  in  my 
chain,  till  that  were  wholly  broken,  whereby 
I  now  was  but  just — but  still  was — held.  And 
Thou,  0  Lord,  pressedst  upon  me  in  m}^  in- 
ward parts  by  a  severe  mercy,  redoubling  the 
lashes  of  fear  and  of  shame,  lest  I  should  again 
give  way,  and,  not  bursting  that  same  slight 
remaining  tie,  it  should  recover  strength  and 
bind  me  the  faster.  For  I  said  within  myself: 
[160] 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  161 

'  Be  it  clone  now  !  be  it  done  now  ! '  and,  as  I 
spake,  I  all  but  enacted  it ;  I  all  but  did  it,  and 
did  it  not ;  yet  sank  not  back  to  my  former 
state,  but  kept  my  stand  liard  by,  and  took 
breatli.  And  I  essayed  again,  and  wanted 
somewhat  less  of  it,  and  somewliat  less,  and  all 
but  touched  and  laid  hold  of  it ;  and  yet  came 
not  at  it,  nor  touched  nor  laid  hold  of  it; 
hesitating  to  die  to  death  and  to  live  to  life : 
and  the  worse,  whereto  I  was  inured,  prevailed 
more  with  me  than  the  better,  whereto  I  was 
unused  ;  and,  the  very  moment  wherein  I  was 
to  become  other  than  I  was,  the  nearer  it  ap- 
joroached  me,  the  greater  horror  did  it  strike 
into  me ;  yet  did  it  not  strike  me  back,  nor 
turned  me  away,  but  held  me  in  suspense." 

"Faithful,"  one  day,  was  accosted  by  a  de- 
ceiver, who  promised  him,  "  if  he  would  but 
turn  and  dwell  with  him,"  "  all  manner  of 
fleshly  content;"  and,  when  he  "turned  to  go 
away  from  him,"  he  took  hold  of  his  flesh,  and 
gave  him  such  "a  deadly  twitch  back,"  that  it 
seemed  as  if  he  had  pulled  part  of  him  after 
himself  After  a  like  fashion,  poor  Augustine 
now  felt  himself  "held  by  those  very  toys  of 
14* 


162  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

toys,  and  vanities  of  vanities'' — his  "ancient 
mistresses."  "  They  plucked  my  fleshl}^  gar- 
ment," he  says,  "and  whispered  softly,  'Dost 
thou  cast  us  off?  and  from  that  moment  shall 
we  no  more  be  with  thee  for  ever  ?  and  from 
that  moment  shall  not  this  or  that  be  lawful  to 
thee  for  ever  ?  '  And  what  defilements  did 
they  suggest !  what  shame !  " 

But  it  was  too  late.  "  I  much  less  than  half 
heard  them,"  he  writes,  "  and  they  did  not 
openly  shew  themselves  and  contradict  me,  but 
muttered  as  it  were  behind  my  back,  and,  as  I 
was  departing,  privily  plucked  me,  but  to  look 
back  upon  them.  Yet  they  did  retard  me,  so 
that  I  hesitated  to  burst  and  shake  myself  free 
from  them,  and  to  spring  over  whither  I  was 
called, — a  violent  habit  saying  to  me,  '  Thinkest 
thou,  thou  canst  live  without  them  ?  '  But 
now  it  spake  very  faintly.  For,  on  that  side 
whither  I  had  set  my  face  and  whither  I  trem- 
bled to  go,  there  appeared  unto  me  the  chaste 
dignity  of  continency — serene,yet  not  relaxedly 
gay,  honestly  alluring  me  to  come  and  doubt 
not,  and  stretching  forth,  to  receive  and  em- 
brace me,  her  holy  hand  full  of  multitudes  of 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  163 

good  examples;  there  were  so  many  young 
men  and  maidens  here,  a  multitude  of  youtli 
and  of  every  age,  grave  widows  and  aged  vir- 
gins ;  and  Continence  herself  in  all,  not  bar- 
ren, but  '  a  fruitful  mother  of  children' — of 
joys — by  thee,  her  husband,  O  Lord.  And  she 
smiled  on  me  with  a  persuasive  mockery,  as  if 
she  would  say, — '  Canst  not  thou  what  these 
3^ouths,  what  these  maidens,  can  ?  or  can  they 
either,  in  themselves,  and  not  rather  in  the 
Lord  their  God  ?  The  Lord  their  God  gave 
me  unto  them.  Why  standest  thou  in  thyself, 
and  so  standest  not  ?  cast  thyself  upon  Him, 
fear  not  He  will  withdraw  Himself  that  thou 
shouldest  fall ;  cast  thyself  fearlessly  upon 
Him,  He  will  receive  and  will  heal  thee.'  And 
I  blushed  exceedingly  ;  for  that  I  yet  heard 
the  muttering  of  those  toys,  and  hung  in  sus- 
pense. And  she  again  seemed  to  say, — '  Stop 
thine  ears  against  those  thy  unclean  members 
on  the  earth,  that  they  may  be  mortified.  The}^ 
tell  thee  of  delights,  but  not  as  doth  the  law 
ofthe  Lord  thy  God.'" 

All  this   time,  he   was  ''  in  unwonted  emo- 
tion ;  "    and  Alypius  had  continued   "sitting 


164  MEMOIR    OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

close  bj  his  side,  in  sileuce  waiting  its  issue." 
At  length,  ''  a  deep  consideration  having,  from 
the  secret  bottom  of  his  soul,"  "  drawn  together 
and  heaped  up  all  his  misery  in  the  sight  of 
his  heart,  and  a  mighty  storm  arising  and 
bringing  a  might}^  shower  of  tears," — he  "rose 
from  Atypius,"  that  he  "might  pour  it  forth 
wholly  in  its  natural  expressions."  "  Solitude," 
he  says,  "  was  suggested  to  me  as  fitter  for  the 
business  of  weeping ;  so,  I  retired  so  far  that 
even  his  presence  could  not  be  a  burden  to  me. 
Thus  was  it  then  with  me  ;  and  he  perceived 
something  of  it;  for  something,  I  suppose,  I 
had  spoken,  wherein  the  tones  of  m}^  voice  ap- 
peared choked  with  weeping,  and  so  risen  up. 
He  then  remained  where  we  had  been  sitting, 
most  extremely  astonished." 

A  poet,  who  himself  had  travailed,  writes — 

"With  sick  and  famish' d  eyes, 
With  doubhng  knees,  and  weary  bones, 
To  Thee  my  cries, 
To  Thee  my  groans, 
To  Thee  my  sighs,  ray  tears  ascend. 
No  end  ?  " 

Yes,  brother,  thy  travail  is    ending  now.     "I 


MEMOIR  OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE.  165 

cast  myself  clown,"  says  he,  "I  know  not  how, 
under  a  certain  fig-tree,  giving  full  vent  to  my 
tears ;  and  the  floods  of  mine  eyes  pushed  out 
'  an  acceptable  sacrifice  to  Thee.'  And — not, 
indeed,  in  these  words,  yet  to  this  purpose — 
spake  I  much  unto  Thee : — '  And  Thou,  O 
Lord,  how  long?  how  long,  Lord,  wilt  Thou 
be  angry  ?  for  ever  ?  Remember  not  our  for- 
mer iniquities!'  for  I  felt  that  I  was  held  by 
them.  I  sent  up  these  sorrowful  words,  'How 
long  ?  how  long  ?  '  '  To-morrow,  and  to-mor- 
row ? '  '  why  not  now  ?  why  not  now  ?  why 
not  is  there  this  hour  an  end  to  my  unclcan- 
ncss  ?'  " 

"  A  microscopic  cause,"  it  has  been  said, 
"  often  works  a  long-prepared  effect."  That 
evening,  in  the  garden  at  Milan,  the  apoph- 
thegm was  to  hold  good." 

Augustine  was  still  "  speaking,  and  weeping 
in  the  niost  bitter  contrition  of  his  heart,"  when 
suddenly  there  fell  upon  his  ear,  from  a  neigh- 
bouring house,  "a  voice,  as  of  a  boy  or  girl, 
chanting,  and  oft  repeating — '  Take  up  and 
read  !  take  up  and  read ! '  "  Not  more  start- 
ling to  Saul  of  Tarsus  was  the  light,  and  the 


166  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUST  IKE. 

voice,  that  cla}^,  on  the  way  to  Damascus. 
"Instantly,"  says  he,  "  mj^  countenance  altered  : 
I  began  to  think  most  intently  whether  chil- 
dren were  wont,  in  any  kind  of  play,  to  sing- 
such  words ;  nor  could  I  remember  ever  to 
have  heard  the  like.  So,  checking  the  torrent 
of  my  tears,  I  arose,  interpreting  it  to  be  no 
other  than  a  command  from  God  to  open  the 
book  and  read  the  first  chapter  I  should  find  ; 
for,"  he  adds,  "  I  had  heard  of  Antony,  that, 
coming  in  during  the  reading  of  the  Gospel,  he 
received  the  admonition,  as  if  what  was  being- 
read  was  spoken  to  him — '  Go,  sell  all  that  thou 
hast,  and  give  to  the  poor,  and  thou  shalt  have 
treasure  in  heaven,  and  come  and  follow  me ; ' 
and  by  such  oracle  he  was  forthwith  converted 
imto  Thee." 

Hastening  to  the  spot  where  he  had  left 
Alypius,  he  snatched  the  volume  of  St.  Paul 
which  they  had  been  reading  in  tlie  room  and 
which  he  had  brought  with  him  to  the  garden. 
He  opened  the  book  ;  and  his  eye  fell  on  that 
scripture — "  T^ot  in  rioting  and  drunkenne:~s, 
not  in  chambering  and  wantonness,  not  in 
strife  and  envying ;  but  put  ye  on   the  Lord 


MEMOIll   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  167 

Jesus  Christ,  and  make  not  provision  for  the 
flesh,  to  fulfil  the  lusts  thereof.''"^  It  was  the 
hour  of  the  spirit-birth.  The  Lord  was  at  his 
side,  saying,  "  Live !  "  "  No  further  would  I 
read,"  says  he ;  "nor  needed  I:  for  instantly, 
at  the  end  of  this  sentence,  by  a  light  as  it  were 
of  serenity  infused  into  my  heart,  all  the  dark- 
ness of  doubt  vanished  away." 

When  the  Pilgrim,  at  the  Cross,  "  stood 
looking  and  weeping,"  wondering  that  the  sight 
of  the  Crucified  should  have  "eased  him  of  his 
burden," — "  three  shining  ones  came  to  him, 
and  stripped  him  of  his  rags,  and  clothed  him 
with  change  of  raiment;  and  Christian,  giving 
three  lca[)S  for  joy,  went  on  singing — 

"  '  Thus  far  did  I  come  laden  with  my  sin, 

Nor  could  aught  ease  the  grief  that  I  was  in, 
Till  I  came  hither :  what  a  place  is  this ! 
Must  here  be  the  beginning  of  my  bliss  ? 
Must  here  the  burden  fall  from  off  my  back  ? 
Must  here  the  strings  that  bind  it  to  me  crack  ? 
Blest  Cross  !  Blest  Sepulchre  I  blest  rather  be 
The  Man  that  there  was  put  to  death  for  me ! '  " 

Augustine  now  had  found  a  like  rest,  and  he 

*  Rom.  xiii.  13,  14. 


168  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

rejoiced  with  a  like  lowly  joy.  "0  my  God," 
he  exclaimed,  "  let  me  with  thanksgiving  re- 
member and  confess  unto  Thee  Thy  mercies  on 
me.  Let  my  bones  be  bedewed  with  Thy  love, 
and  let  them  say  unto  Thee,  'Who  is  like  unto 
Thee,  0  Lord  ?  Thou  hast  broken  my  bonds 
in  sunder.  I  will  offer  unto  Thee  the  sacrifice 
of  thanksgiving.'  " 

And,  looking  back,  long  afterwards,  upon 
the  crisis,  he  wrote  : — "  Thy  powerful  voice 
said,  '  Let  there  be  light,  and  there  was  light." 
The  gross  darkness  which  had  floated  before 
my  eyes  dissolved  in  an  instant.  I  felt  it  scat* 
ter,  and  descried  the  dawning  day,  and  heard 
the  powerful  command  ;  and,  full  of  thankful 
wonder,  I  cried  out — "Thou  verily  art  God, 
which  has  brought  me  out  of  darkness  and  the 
shadow  of  death  into  Thy  marvellous  light.' 
Thou  spakest  that  word  ;  and,  behold,  I  see." 


XIX. 

"  Let  this  bint  suffice — 
The  Cross  once  seen  is  death  to  every  vice  ; 
Else  He  that  hung  there  suffer'd  all  this  pain, 
Bled,  groan'd,  and  agonised,  and  died,  in  vain." 

King  Alfred,  after  his  conversion,  used  to 
spend  night  after  night  in  a  quiet  retreat,  por- 
ing over  the  Book  of  Psalms,  and,  like  Luther, 
crying,  "  More  light !  more  light !  "  In  a  se- 
cluded villa  near  Milan  was  now  to  be  seen, 
for  many  successive  weeks,  the  meek  son  of 
Monica,  sitting,  like  another  Mary,  often  for 
half  the  night,  at  the  feet  of  Jesus,  hearing  His 
words.  "Oh  1  in  what  accents,"  says  he, 
"  spake  I  unto  Thee,  my  God,  when  I  read  the 
Psalms  of  David,  those  faithful  songs  and 
sounds  of  devotion !  How  was  I — as  yet  a 
novice  in  Thy  real  love — ^by  them  kindled  to- 
wards Thee,  and  on  fire  to  rehearse  them,  if 
15  [169] 


170  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

possible,  tbrougli  the  whole  world  against  the 
pride  of  mankind !" 

But  we  return,  for  a  few  moments,  to  the 
garden. 

His  first  impulse,  that  night,  was,  to  "  tell 
his  friend  Aljpius  what  had  come  to  him  ;  " 
and  so,  "  putting  his  finger  between  and  also 
some  other  mark,"  he  closed  the  book,  and, 
''  with  a  calm  countenance,"  communicated  the 
joyful  tidings. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Alypius,  '*  what  you  have 
read."  Opening  the  place  he  shewed  him ;  and 
the  words  following  caught  his  eye,  "  Him  that 
is  weak  in  the  faith,  receive."  "  This,"  says 
Augustine,  "  he  applied  to  himself,  and  dis- 
closed to  me.  And  by  this  admonition  was  he 
strengthened;  and  by  a  good  resolution  and 
purpose,  and  most  corresponding  to  his  charac- 
ter, wherein  he  did  always  very  far  differ  from 
me  for  the  better,  he  without  any  turbulent  de- 
lay joined  me." 

His  next  thought  was,  to  hasten  to  Monica ; 
and  to  her  he  "related  in  order  how  it  had 
taken  place."  Long  had  she  "  gone  forth 
weeping,  bearing  the  precious  seed  ;  "  and  now 


MKMOm   OF   ST.   AUGL'STINE.  171 

it  was  like  life's  harvest- home  to  lier,  witli  its 
"  sheaves  "  of  joy.  "  She  leapt  for  gladness," 
Augustine  writes,  "  and  triumphed,  and  blessed 
God  who  had  done  for  her  above  what  she 
could  ask  or  think.  She  perceived  that  Thou 
hadst  given  her  more  for  me,  than  she  was 
wont  to  beg  by  her  pitiful  and  most  sorrowful 
groanings.  For  Thou  convertedst  me  unto 
Thyself,  so  that  I  sought  neither  wife,  nor  any 
hope  of  this  world,  standing  in  that  '  rule '  of 
faith  where  Thou  hadst  shewed  me  unto  her  in 
a  vision  so  many  years  before.  And  Thou 
didst  '  convert  her  mourning  into  joy '  much 
more  plentiful  than  she  had  desired,  and  in  a 
much  more  precious  and  purer  way  than  she 
erst  required  by  having  grandchildren  of  my 
body." 

Yinet  speaks  of  a  detaching  and  an  attach- 
ing. Nature  begins  with  the  detaching ;  hence 
its  painful  struggles  after  holiness,  and  its  dark 
and  dreary  bondage.  Grace  attaches  first — at- 
taches to  the  person  of  the  living  and  loving  Sa- 
viour ;  and,  a  new  affection  thus  possessing  the 
soul,  the  detaching  follows  easily,  naturally.  "  I 
saw  with  my  heart  the  Lord  Jesus,"  said  an 


172  MEMOIK   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

Indian  warrior  to  Brainerd,  one  day ;  "  and  it 
stole  my  heart  away."  Augustine  had  now  felt 
the  expulsive  power  of  the  same  new  affection  ; 
and,  like  Levi  at  the  receipt  of  custom,  he  bad 
resolved  to  leave  all  and  follow  Jesus.* 

It  was  within  some  twenty  days  of  the  "Va- 
cation of  the  Yintage;"  and,  determining,  "not 
tumultuously  to  tear,  but  gently  to  v/ithdraw, 
the  service  of  his  tongue  from  the  marts  of 
lip-labour," — he  "endured"  those  few  days,  that, 
having  been  "purchased  of  the  Lord,  no  more 
to  return  for  sale,"  he  might  "then  in  a  regu- 
lar way  take  his  leave." 

Not,  indeed,  without  certain  grave  misgiv- 
ings, did  his  tender  conscience  suffer  him  to 
"  sit  even  one  hour  in  the  chair  of  lies." 
"Thou  hadst  pierced  our  hearts,"  he  writes, 

*Possidius,  referring  to  this  period,  says:  — "Mox  ex  inti- 
rnis  cordis  medullis  convorsus  ad  Dcum,  spcm  oimieni,  quam 
habebat  in  sfcculo,  dereliquit :  jam  iion  nxorem,  iiou  filios 
carnis,  non  divitias,  non  honores,  sfficuli  qurerens ;  sed  Deo 
cum  suis  servire  statuit,  in  illo  et  ex  illo  pusillo  grege  esse 
studens,  quern  Dominus  alloquitur,  dicens,  'Nolito  timere, 
pusille  grex,  quoniam  complacuit  Patri  vestro  dare  vobis  reg- 
num.  Vendite  qufc  possidetis,'  &c.  — et  super  Hdci  fundamen- 
tura  iiidificare  desidcrans  non  ligna,  foenuni  et  slipulau),  sed 
aurum,  argentum,  et  lapidcs  protiosos." 


MEMOIIl   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  173 

"vvitli  Thy  charity,  and  we  carried  Thy  words 
as  it  were  fixed  in  our  entrails ;  and  the  exam- 
ples of  Thy  servants — whom  for  black  thou 
hadst  made  bright,  and  for  dead,  alive — being 
piled  together  in  the  receptacle  of  our  thoughts, 
kindled  and  burnt  up  that  our  heavy  torpor, 
that  we  should  not  sink  down  to  the  abyss ; 
and  they  fired  us  so  vehemently  that  all  the 
blasts  of  'subtle  tongues'  from  gainsayers  might 
only  inflame  us  the  more  fiercely,  not  extin- 
guish us." 

Nevertheless,  he  decided  to  wait.  "It 
seemed,"  he  adds,  "like  ostentation,  not  to 
wait  for  the  vacation  now  so  near,  but  to  quit 
beforehand  a  public  profession  which  was  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  all, — so  that  all,  looking  on 
this  act  of  mine,  and  observing  how  near  was 
the  time  of  vintage  which  I  wished  to  antici- 
pate, would  talk  much  of  me,  as  if  I  had  de- 
sired to  appear  some  great  one.  And  what 
end  had  it  served  me,  that  people  should  re- 
pute and  dispute  upon  my  purpose,  and  that 
our  'good  should  be  evil  spoken  of?  '" 

Meanwhile,  the  brief  interval  had  its  own 
'*  full  joy."     "Submitting  his  neck  to  Chrst's 


174  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

easy  yoke,  and  his  slioulders  to  His  light  bur- 
den,"— ^he  writes: — "'How  sweet  did  it  at  once 
become  to  me  to  want  the  sweetnesses  of  those 
toys !  and  what  I  had  feared  to  be  parted  from, 
was  now  a  joy  to  part  with.  For  Thou,  O 
Christ  Jesus,  didst  cast  them  forth  fi-om  Thee, 
Thou  true  and  highest  sweetness !  Thou 
castedst  them  forth,  and,  instead  of  them,  en- 
teredst  in  Thyself — sweeter  than  all  pleasure, 
though  not  to  flesh  and  blood — brighter  than 
all  light,  but  more  hidden  than  all  depths — ■ 
higher  than  all  honor,  but  not  to  the  high  in 
their  own  conceits.  Now  was  my  soul  free 
from  the  biting  cares  of  canvassing  and  get- 
ting, and  from  w^eltering  in  filth,  and  scratch- 
ing off  the  itch  of  lust.  And  my  infant  tongue 
spake  freely  to  Thee  my  brightness,  and  ni}- 
riches,  and  my  health,  the  Lord  my  God. 

Another  thing  solaced  him.  That  very  sum- 
mer, his  "lungs  had  begun  to  give  wa}^,  amid 
too  great  literary  labour,  and  to  breathe  deeply 
with  difftculty,  and,  b}^  a  pain  in  the  chest,  to 
shew  that  they  were  injured,  and  to  refuse  any 
full  or  lengthened  speaking ;"  and  he  had  been 
looking  forward  to  the  necessity  of  "laying 


MEMOIR  OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  175 

down  that  burden  of  teaching,"  or,  if  he  "could 
be  cured  and  recover,"  at  least  of  intermitting 
it.  "But,"  says  he,  "when  the  full  wish  for 
leisure,  that  I  might  see  '  how  that  thou  art  the 
Lord,'*  arose,  and  was  fixed,  in  me,- — my  God, 
Thou  knowcst,  I  began  even  to  rejoice  that  I 
had  this  secondary,  and  that  no  feigned  excuse, 
which  might  something  moderate  the  offence 
taken  by  those  who,  for  their  sons'  sake,  wish- 
ed me  never  to  have  the  freedom  of  Thy  sons.'' 
Thus  the  twenty  days  were  "endured  man- 
full}'."  "  Our  purpose,"  says  he,  "  was  known 
to  Thee ;  but  to  men,  other  than  onr  own  friends, 
was  it  not  known.  For  we  had  agreed  among 
ourselves  not  to  let  it  abroad  to  any  ;  although 
to  us,  now  ascending  from  the  'valley  of  teai's' 
and  singing  that  '  song  of  degrees,'  Thou  hadst 
given 'sharp  arrows'  and  'destroying  co.ds' 
against  the  '  subtle  tongue '  which,  as  though 
advising  for  us,  would  thwart,  and  would,  out 
of  love,  devour  us,  as  it  doth  its  meat."  More- 
over, the  "  covetousness,  whicli  af  jretiine  bore 
a  part  of  this  heavy  business,"  had  left  him, 
and  he  "  remained  alone  ;"  but  "  patience  had 

*  Psalm  xlvi.  10. 


176  MEMOIR  OF  ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

taken  its  place,"  and  so  tie  "  was  not  over- 
whelmed." 

At  length,  the  day  arrived  when  he  "  was  in 
deed  freed  of  his  Rhetoric  Professorship,  where- 
of in  thought  he  had  been  already  freed," — 
the  Lord  "  rescuing  his  tongue  whence  He  had 
before  rescued  his  heart."  And  he  retired  to 
a  friend's  country  house,  "blessing  God  and 
rejoicing."  With  him  was  the  "  brother  of  his 
heart,"  Alypius,  who  had  been  "subdued unto 
the  name  of  Jesus ;  "  and  the  boy  Adeodatiis 
— born,  after  the  flesh,  of  his  sin — a  lad  not 
quite  fifteen,  but  "  in  wit  surpassing  many  grave 
and  learned  men ;  "  and,  last  not  least,  was  Mo- 
nica, "in  female  garb  with  masculine  faith, 
with  the  ti-anquility  of  age,  motherly  love. 
Christian  piet}^" 

The  host  himself  was  not  of  the  circle  ;  for, 
with  not  a  few  convictions,  poor  Verecundus 
"  would  not  be  a  christian  on  any  other  terms 
than  on  those  he  could  not."  Himself  "  held 
long  back  by  bonds  whereby  he  was  most 
sternl}'  bound, he  was  worn  down  with  care  about 
their  blessedness  ;  for  he  saw  that  he  should  be 
severed  from  them."     But  he   "offered  them 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  177 

courteously  the  use  of  his  villa ; "  and,  scarcely- 
able  to  bear  the  separation,  he  set  out  on  a  visit 
to  Rome.  Daring  his  sojourn  there,  he  was 
taken  seriously  ill ;  the  arrow  was  removed  by 
the  Divine  Healer ;  and,  not  long  afterwards, 
he  died,  resting  in  Christ  Jesus.  "In  this,"' 
says  Augustine,  "Thou  hadst  mercy,  not  on 
him  only,  but  on  us  also, — lest,  remembering 
the  exceeding  kindness  of  our  friend  towards 
us  yet  unable  to  number  him  among  Thy  flock, 
we  should  be  agonized  with  intolerable  sorrow. 
Thanks  unto  Thee,  our  God,  wc  are  Thine! 
Thy  suggestions  and  consolations  tell  us,  that, 
faithful  in  promises.  Thou  now  requitest  Yere- 
cundus  for  his  country-house  of  Cassiacum, 
where,  from  the  fever  of  the  world,  we  now 
reposed  in  Thee  with  the  eternal  freshness  of 
Thy  Paradise." 

The  villa  was  Augustine's  Wartburg,  where 
the  Lord  took  him  aside 

"  To  gather  up  the  ravelled  skeins  of  feeling — 
And  rest  a  while  for  duties." 

"When  shall  I  have  time  to  rehearse,"  he 
writes,  "all  Thy  great  benefits  towards  us  at 


178  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

that  time,  especially  when  basting  on  to  yet 
greater  mercies  ?  For  my  remembrance  recalls 
me — and  pleasant  it  is  to  me,  O  Lord,  to  confess 
to  Thee — by  what  inward  goads  Thou  tamedst 
me :  and  how  Thou  hast  evened  me,  lowering 
the  m.ountains  and  hills  of  my  high"  imagina- 
tions, straightening  my  crookedness,  and 
smoothing  my  rough  ways." 

And  he  adds : — "  With  what  vehement  and 
bitter  sorrow  was  I  angered  at  the  Manichees ! 
How  I  would  thc}^  had  then  been  somewhere 
near  me,  and,  without  my  knowing  that  they 
Avere  there,  could  have  beheld  my  countenance 
and  heard  my  words  when  I  read  the  fourth 
Psalm  in  that  time  of  my  rest,  and  how  that 
Psalm  wroughc  upon  me — '  Hear  me  when  I 
call,  0  God  of  my  righteousness ;  Thou  hast 
enlarged  me  when  I  was  in  distress ;  have 
merc3^  upon  me,  and  hear  my  prayer !'  Would 
that  what  I  uttered  on  these  words  they  could 
hear,  without  my  knowing  whether  they  heard, 
lest  they  should  think  I  spake  it  for  their  sakcs! 
Because  neither  should  I  speak  the  same  things, 
nor  in  the  same  way,  if  I  perceived  that  they 
heard  and  saw  me  ;  nor,  if  I  spake  tliem,  would 


MEMOIK   OF   ST.    AUGUSTIXE.  179 

they  so  receive  them  as  when  I  spake  by  and 
for  myself  before  Thee,  out  of  the  natural  feel- 
ings of  my  soul." 

Another  divine  lesson  taught  him,  "in  that 
breathing-time,  panting  from  the  school  of 
pride,"  was — a  deep  self-abasement  and  a  holy 
revenge  against  sin.  "  How  was  I  moved,  O 
my  God,"  says  he,  "  who  had  now  learned  to 
be  angry  at  myself  for  sins  past,  that  I  might 
not  sin  in  time  to  come !  Yea,  to  be  justly 
angry  ;  for  it  was  not  another  nature  of  a  peo- 
ple of  darkness  which  sinned  for  me,  as  they 
say  who  are  not  angry  at  themselves  and  who 
treasure  up  wrath  against  the  day  of  wrath  and 
of  the  revelation  of  Thy  just  judgment.  Nor 
were  my  good  things  now  without,  nor  sought 
with  the  eyes  of  flesh  in  that  earthly  sun ;  for 
they  that  would  have  joy  from  without  soon 
become  vain,  and  waste  themselves  on  the 
things  seen  and  temporal,  and  in  their  famished 
thoughts  do  lick  their  very  shadows.  There, 
where  I  was  angry  within  myself  in  my  cham- 
ber— where  I  was  inwaixlly  pricked — where  T 
Avas  saciificed,  slaying  '  my  old  man  '  and  com- 
mencing the  purpose  of  a  new  life,   'putting 


180  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

my  trust  in  Thee,' — there  haclst  Thou  begun 
to  grow  sweet  unto  me,  and  haclst  'put  glad- 
ness in  my  heart.'  And  I  cried  out,  as  I  read 
this  outwardly,  finding  it  inwardly.  Nor 
would  I  be  multiplied  with  worldly  goods — 
Avasting  away  time,  and  wasted  away  by  time ; 
whereas  I  had,  in  Thy  eternal  simple  essence, 
other  'corn,  and  wine,  and  oil.'" 

It  has  been  remarked  of  Bunyan  that  his 
perceptions  were  all  so  vivid  as  to  be  transfig- 
ured into  sensations.  Augustine's  trials  and 
triumphs  of  faith  took  the  same  almost  tangible 
form.  "  I  trembled  for  fear,"  he  writes,  giving 
another  of  his  villa-experiences,  "  and  again 
kindled  with  hope,  and  with  rejoicing  in  Thy 
mercy,  O  Father;  and  all  issued  forth,  both 
by  mine  eyes  and  by  my  voice,  when  Thy  good 
Spirit,  turning  unto  us,  said,  '  O  ye  sons  of 
men  !  how  long  slow  of  heart  ?  why  do  ye 
love  vanity  and  seek  after  leasing?'  For  I 
liad  loved  vanity,  and  had  sought  after  leasing. 
Thy  Holy  One  was  risen,  and  was  ascended  ; 
and  the  Comforter,  the  Spirit  of  truth,  was 
come^  and  was  crying.  '  Know  this  !'  and  I  so 
long,    not   knowing,    had   'loved    vanity  and 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUjsTINE.  181 

sought  after  leasing :'  and  therefore  I  heard 
and  trembled,  because  it  was  spoken  unto  such 
as  I  remembered  myself  to  have  been.  For, 
in  those  phantoms  which  I  had  held  for  truths, 
was  there  '  vanity  and  leasing ;  '  and  I  spake 
aloud  many  things,  earnestly  and  forcibly,  in 
the  bitterness  of  my  remembrance.  Which 
would  they  had  heard,  who  yet  '  love  vanity 
and  seek  after  leasing!'  The}'  would  per- 
chance have  been  troubled,  and  have  vomited 
it  up  ;  and  '  Tliou  wouldest  hear  them  when 
they  cried  unto  Thee.'" 

On  a  later  occasion,  after  the  same  Bunyan- 
like  type,  he  says: — "I  read  that  verse — 'I 
will  both  lay  me  down  in  peace,  and  sleep ;  for 
Thou,  Lord,  only  makest  me  dwell  in  safety ; ' 
and,  with  a  loud  cry  of  my  heart,  I  cried  out, 
O  'in  peace!'  0  for  the  self-same!  O,  what 
said  he,  '  I  will  lay  me  down  and  sleep  ?'  I 
read,  and  kindled  ;  nor  found  I  what  to  do  to 
those  deaf  and  dead — of  whom  myself  had 
been — a  pestilent  person,  a  bitter  and  a  blind 
bawler  against  those  writings  which  are  honied 
with  the  honey  of  heaven,  and  lightsome  with 
16 


182  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

Thine  own  light:   and  I  was  cousunied  with 
zeal  at  the  enemies  of  this  Scripture.'' 

Some  days  passed,  and  he  had  a  notable  in- 
stance of  "the  severity  of  the  Lord's  scourge, 
as  well  as  of  the  wonderful  swiftness  of  His 
mercy."  He  writes: — "Thou  didst  then  tor- 
ment me  with  pain  in  my  teeth ;  whicli  when 
it  had  come  to  such  height  that  I  could  not 
speak,  it  came  into  my  heart  to  desire  all  my 
friends  present  to  pray  for  me  to  Thee,  the  God 
of  all  manner  of  health.  And  this  I  wrote  on 
wax,  and  gave  it  them  to  read.  Present!}^,  so 
soon  as  with  humble  devotion  we  had  bowed 
our  knees,  that  pain  went  away.  But  what 
pain?  or  how  went  it  away?  I  was  affrighted, 
O  my  Lord,  my  God;  for,  from  infancy,  I  had 
never  experienced  the  like.  And  the  power 
of  Thy  nod  was  deeply  conveyed  to  me ;  and, 
rejoicing  in  faith,  I  praised  Thy  nnme." 

It  Avas  now  term-time,  after  the  "vintage- 
vacation;"  and  he  gave  formal  notice  to  the 
^Milanese  to  "provide  their  scholars  with 
another  master  to  sell  words  to  them;"  "for," 
says  he,  "I  both  had  made  choice  to  serve 


MKAIOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTIXE.  183 

Thee,  and,  tlirough  my  difficulty  of  breathing 
and  pain  in  my  cliest,  was  not  equal  to  my 
professorship."  At  the  same  time,  he  for- 
warded a  letter  to  Ambrose,  setting  forth  his 
"  past  errors  and  present  desires,  and  especially 
his  wish  "  to  put  on  Christ"  openly  by  baptism. 
The  holy  man  responded  with  a  characteristic 
warmth  of  welcome ;  and,  in  a  few  more  weeks, 
Aurelius  was  openly  to  confess  his  Lord, 
crying— 

"Oh!  let  me  still 
Write  Thee  Great  God,  and  me  Thy  child ; 
Let  me  be  soft  and  supple  to  Thy  will ; 
Small  to  myself,  to  others  mild  ; 
Be  hither  ill  1" 


XX. 


Let  him  see  thee  speaking  to  thy  God  ;  he  will  not  forget  it 

afterward  : 
When  old  and  gray,  will  he  feelingly  remember  a  mother's 

tender  piety." 

"  Now  the  evening  shadows  lengthen, 
And  the  stars  will  soon  appear  ; 
Every  fleeting  moment  tells  rac, 
That  the  hour  of  rest  is  near." 


A  YEAR  or  two  previous,  strange  scenes  had 
been  witnessed  in  the  city  cathedral.  The 
empress  mother — a  recent  pervert  to  Arianism 
— had  lent  herself  to  the  heretics  as  a  violent 
persecutor.  On  Ambrose,  especially,  the  vials 
of  her  fury  were  poured.  And,  day  after  day, 
the  devout  people  had  kept  watch  in  the 
church,  expecting  to  see  their  pastor  taken 
forth  to  martyrdom — themselves  "  ready  to  die 
with  him."  Among  the  waiting  company  was 
Monica,  "bearing  a  chief  part  of  these  anxie- 
ties, living  for  prayer." 
[184] 


MEMOIR   OF    ST.   AUGL'STINE.  185 

In  those  days,  her  son  and  his  associates  had 
not  yet  been  "  warmed  by  the  heat  of  God's 
Spirit ;"  but  often  had  they  been  stirred  by  the 
sight  of  the  "  amazed  and  disquieted  city,"  and, 
Aot  least,  by  the  calm  joy  with  which,  in  the 
church  and  in  the  houses,  and  even  on  the 
streets,  the  people  would  sing  hymns  and 
psalms — a  custom  then  fii-st  instituted,  after 
the  manner  of  the  Eastern  Churches — "  lest 
they  should  wax  faint  through  the  tediousness 
of  sorrow."  And  now  that  he  returned  to 
Milan  to  confess  Christ,  he  fell  with  his  whole 
soul  into  "  this  kind  of  consolation  and  exhorta- 
tion, zealously  joining  with  harmony  of  voice 
and  heart."  "How  did  I  weep,"  says  he,  "in 
thy  hymns  and  canticles,  touched  to  the  quick 
by  the  voices  of  Thy  sweet-strained  Church ! 
The  voices  flowed  into  mine  ear,  and  the  truth 
distilled  into  my  heart,  whence  the  affections 
of  my  devotion  overflowed,  and  tears  ran  down, 
and  happy  was  I  therein.  Nor  was  I  sated 
with  the  wondrous  sweetness  of  considering 
the  depth  of  Thy  counsels  concerning  the  sal- 
vation of  mankind.  Therefore  did  I  the  more 
weep  among  the  singing  of  Thy  hymns,  former- 
16^'- 


186  HEMOIll  OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

Ij  sighing  after  Tiiee,  and  at  length  breathing 
in  Thee,  as  far  as  the  breath  may  enter  into  this 
house  of  grass." 

Augustine's  affectionate  soul  —  dissevered 
from  old  fellowships — soon  drew  around  it 
holy  attachments.  The  circle  at  Milan  was  a 
little  brotherliood  of  hearts, — 

"  Its  sun  the  brightness  of  affection." 

There  was  Aljpius,  whom  we  left  in  the 
garden  beneath  the  tree.  '^  He,  with  me," 
says  Augustine,  "was  born  again  in  Thee." 
Already  "clothed  was  he  with  a  most  meek 
humiUty."  And  "a  most  valiant  tamer  was 
he  of  the  body." 

Then  there  was  Euodius,  "  a  young  military 
officer  of  his  own  city,"  wlio,  amidst  the  gaities 
of  the  Imperial  Court,  had  been  arrested  by 
God's  grace,  and,  quitting  his  "secular  war- 
fare," had  "girded  liimself  for  the  Lord's." 

And  there  was  the  youth  Adeodatus,  whose 
talent  struck  his  father  with  "  such  awe,"  that 
lie  "  could  onl}^  exclaim,  '  Who  but  Thou  could 
be  the  workmaster  of  such  wonders?'" 
"Soon,"  he  adds,   "didst  Thou  take  his  life 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  187 

from  the  eartli ;  and  I  now  remember  li'm 
without  anxiety,  fearing  nothing  for  his  child- 
hood or  youth  or  his  whole  self." 

There  was  Nebridius,  also,  Avho,  though  he 
had  f.illen  into  "the  pit  of  that  pernicious 
error  of  believing  the  flesh  of  God's  Son  to  be 
a  phantom,"  yet,  "  emerging  thence,"  had 
given  himself  to  God  at  the  fountain  of  Im- 
manuel's  blood.  He,  too,  ere  long,  was  ripened 
for  glory.  His  whole  family  had  just  been, 
"through  him,  made  Christian," — when  he  was 
"released  from  the  flesh;"  "and  now,"  writes 
his  friend,  "he  lives  in  Abraham's  bosom. 
Whatever  that  be  which  is  signified  by  that 
bosom,  there  lives  my  Nebridius,  mj-  sweet 
friend,  and  Thy  child,  O  Lord,  adopted  of  a 
freedman;  there  he  liveth.  For  what  other 
place  is  there,"  he  adds,  "for  such  a  soul? 
There  he  liveth,  whereof  he  asked  much  of 
me,  a  poor  inexperienced  man.  Now  lays  he 
not  his  ear  to  m}^  mouth,  but  his  spiritual 
mouth  unto  Thy  fountain,  and  drinketh  as 
much  as  he  can  receive,  wisdom  in  proportion 
to  his  thirst,  endlessly  happy.  Nor  do  I  think 
that  he  is  so  inebriated  therewith,  as  to  forget 


188  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

me;  seeing  Thou,  Lord,  whom  he  drinketh, 
art  mindful  of  us." 

And,  last  not  least,  there  was  Monica,  whose 
hand  had  dropped  into  his  heart's  deepest  fur- 
rows the  goodly  seed  of  the  kingdom. 

Such  was  the  little  family  whom  grace  had 
called,  at  once  into  the  fellowship  of  Jesus  and 
into  the  mutual  fellowship  of  most  loving  and 
unselfish  hearts.  They  "were  together,  about 
to  dwell  together  for  some  devout  purpose, 
seeking  where  they  might  serve  Thee  most 
usefully,"  when  a  stroke  came  upon  Aurelius, 
which,  more  than  any  other,  made  him  feel  as 
if  he  were  himself  more  than  half  way. 

The  friends  had  set  out  for  Africa,  and  were 
already  as  far  as  Ostia,  "  recruiting,  after  the 
fatigues  of  a  long  journey,  for  the  voyage." 
One  evening,  "leaning  in  a  certain  window 
which  looked  into  the  garden,"  Augustine  and 
his  mother  stood  alone,  and,  "  removed  from 
the  din  of  men,"  were  "  discoursing  together 
very  sweetly."  "  Forgetting,"  says  he,  "those 
things  which  are  behind,  and  reaching  forth 
unto  those  things  which  are  before,  we  were 
enquiring  between  ourselves,  in  the  presence 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  189 

of  the  Trutli — whicli  Thou  art — of  what  sort 
the  eternal  life  of  the  saints  was  to  be,  '  which 
eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  nor  hath  it 
entered  into  the  heart  of  man.'  Gasping  with 
the  mouth  of  our  heart  after  these  heavenly 
streams  of  God's  fountain — the  fountain  of  life 
which  is  with  Him,  so  that,  being  bedewed 
thence,  according  to  our  capacity,  we  might  in 
some  sort  meditate  upon  so  high  a  mystery, — 
we  were,  in  our  discourse,  brought  to  that 
point,  that  the  very  highest  delight  of  the 
earthly  senses,  in  the  very  purest  material 
light,  seemed  in  respect  of  the  sweetness  of 
that  life,  not  only  not  worth}'-  of  comparison, 
but  not  even  of  mention." 

It  looked,  that  evening,  as  if  the  saintly 
Monica  were  already  breathing  the  air  of 
heaven.  "We,  raising  up  ourselves,"  he  says 
again,  "with  a  most  glowing  affection,  did  by 
degrees  pass  through  all  things  bodily,  even 
the  very  firmament  whence  sun  and  moon  and 
stars  shine  upon  the  earth ;  yea,  we  were  soar- 
ing higher  yet,  by  inward  musing,  and  dis- 
course, and  admiring  of  Thy  words ;  and  we 
came  to  our  own  minds,   and  went  beyond 


190  MEMOIR  OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

them,  that  we  might  arrive  at  that  region  of 
never-failing  plenty  where  'Thou  feedest  Is- 
rael' for  ever  with  the  food  of  truth.  And, 
while  we  wxre  discoursing  and  panting  after 
wisdom,  we  slightly  touched  on  it  with  the 
whole  effort  of  our  heart;  and  we  sighed,  and 
there  we  leave  bound  '  the  first  fruits  of  the 
Spirit,'  and  returned  to  vocal  expression  of 
our  mouth,  where  the  word  spoken  has  begin- 
ning and  end." 

Before  many  days,  Monica  was  to  be  away ; 
and  it  seemed  as  if  even  now  she  was  treading 
"the  golden  streets"  and  had  "joined  the  glo- 
rious throng."  "  We  were  saying  then,"  her 
son  writes,  "If  to  any  the  tumult  of  the  flesh 
were  hushed — hushed  the  images  of  earth  and 
Avaters  and  air  —  hushed  also  the  poles  of 
heaven — yea,  the  very  soul  hushed  to  herself, 
and,  by  not  thinking  on  self,  did  surmount 
self — hushed  all  dreams  and  imaginary  revela- 
tions, every  tongue  and  every  sign,  and  wliat- 
soever  exists  only  in  transition  (since,  if  any 
could  hear,  all  these  say,  '  We  made  not  our- 
selves, but  He  made  us  that  abideth  for  ever') 
— If  then,  having  uttered  this,  they  too  should 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGU3TIXK.  101 

be  hushed,  having  roused  only  our  cars  to  Him 
■vvho  made  them,  and  He  alone  should  speak, 
not  by  them,  but  by  Himself,  that  we  might 
hear  His  word,  not  through  any  tongue  of 
flesh,  nor  angel's  voice,  nor  sound  of  thunder, 
nor  in  the  dark  riddle  of  a  similitude,  but 
might  hear  whom  in  these  things  we  love — - 
might  hear  his  very  self  without  these  (as  we 
two  now  strained  ourselves,  and  in  swift 
thought  touched  on  that  Eternal  Wisdom 
which  abideth  over  all), — could  this  be  con- 
tinued on,  and  other  visions  of  kind  far  unlike 
be  withdrawn,  and  this  one  ravish  and  absorb 
and  wrap  up  its  beholder  amid  these  inward 
joys,  so  that  life  might  be  for  ever  like  that 
one  moment  of  understanding  which  now  we 
sighed  after; — were  not  this,  'Enter  into  Thy 
Master's  joy' ?     And  when  shall  that  be?" 

Monica  was  not  ill  that  night;  and  yet  a 
strange  presentiment  had  seized  her,  that  her 
translation  could  not  be  very  far  off.  "  Son," 
she  said  solemnly,  as  the  setting  sun  shed, 
with  a  quiet  radiance,  his  last  golden  beams 
into  the  humble  chamber,  "  for  mine  own  part, 
I  have  no  farther  delight  in  anything  in  this 


192  ME^rOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTIXE. 

life.  What  I  do  here  aiw  longer,  and  to  what 
end  I  am  here,  I  know  not, — now  that  my 
hopes  in  this  world  are  accomplished.  One 
thing  there  was,  for  which  I  desired  to  linger 
for  a  wliile  in  this  life,  that  I  might  see  thee  a 
Catholic  Christian  before  I  died.  My  God 
hath  done  this  for  me  more  abundantlj^,  that  I 
should  now  see  thee  withal,  despising  earthly 
happiness,  become  His  servant:  AVhat,  then, 
do  I  here  ?"  They  parted  for  the  night, — • 
Monica,  especially, 

"  Yearniug  for  realms  where  fancy  shall  be  fiird  and  the 

ecstasies  of  freedom  shall  be  felt, 
And  the  soul  reign  gloriously,  risen  to  its  royal  destinies." 

A  day  or  two  afterwards,  she  suddenly  "fell 
sick  of  a  fever."  One  night,  "a  swoon  came 
on,  so  severe  that  for  a  good  while  she  was 
withdrawn  from  these  visible  things."  Augus- 
tine and  his  friends  had  liastoned  round  her ; 
and,  as  she  looked  up  again  and  saw  them 
standing  by,  she  enquired,  "  Where  was  I?" 

That  night,  there  was  a  little  episode  on 
which  afterwards  Aurelius  greatly  loved  to 
linger.     Fixing  her  eye  steadfastly  on  her  sun, 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  193 

who  stood  "with  grief  amazed,"  slic  said, 
"  HerG  shall  j^ou  bury  your  mother."  Till 
lately,  the  place  of  her  burial  had  engaged  her 
anxious  thoughts.  One  day,  at  Thegaste,  as 
her  son  was  leaving,  she  had  taken  him  to  the 
cemetery,  and,  pointing  to  a  spot  beside  his 
father,  had  said  to  him — "We  have  lived  in 
great  harmony  together ;  and,  when  I  die,  I 
wish  what  is  earthly  of  us  to  be  united  beneath 
the  same  earth."  And,  since  the  travellers  had 
set  out  from  Milan  on  their  way  home,  she 
had  more  than  once  expressed  her  desire  "  to 
have  it  remembered  among  men,"  that,  "after 
her  pilgrimage  beyond  the  seas,"  the  dust  of 
each  was  not  divided.  But,  latterly,  the  long- 
ing had,  "  through  the  fulness  of  the  Lord's 
goodness,"  "begun  to  cease  in  her  heart." 
"  In  that  discourse  in  the  window,"  Aurelius 
writes,  "when  she  said,  '  What  do  I  here  any 
longer  ?'  there  appeared  no  desire  of  dying  in 
her  own  country.  And,  another  da}^,  in  my 
absence,  as  she  was,  wdth  a  mother's  confi- 
dence, discoursing  with  some  friends  about  the 
contempt  of  this  life  and  the  blessing  of  death, 
and  they  had  expressed  their  amazement  that 
17 


194  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

such  courage  God  should  have  given  to  a 
woman,  adding,  '  Are  you  not  afraid  to  leave 
your  body  so  far  from  your  own  city?'  she 
replied,  '  Nothing  is  far  to  God ;  nor  do  I  fear 
lest  at  the  resurrection  He  should  not  recog- 
nise whence  He  were  to  raise  me  up.'  "  And 
now,  as  the  weeping  circle  stood  around  her 
bed,  and  as  she  whispered  that  injunction 
about  her  burial,  Augustine  "held  his  peace, 
and  refrained  weeping,"  silently  adoring  Him 
who  had  "  instilled  that  gift  into  the  heart  of 
His  faithful  one." 

"But,"  said  his  friend,  addressing  the  dying 
saint,  "  I  pray  God  to  grant  you  a  happier  lot 
than  to  die  in  this  strange  place."  "  What !  " 
she  replied,  fixing  upon  him  an  anxious  look, 
and  as  if  checking  him  with  her  eyes,  "  still 
savouring  such  things?"  And  then,  turning 
to  her  son,  she  added,  "Behold  what  he  saith!" 
A  few  moments  passed;  and,  once  more  re- 
verting to  the  topic,  she  addressed  them  both 
thus — "  Lay  this  body  anywhere;  let  not  the 
care  for  that  any  way  disquiet  you."  And 
again  she  "  held  her  peace,  being  exercised  by 
her  growing  sickness." 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  195 

About  the  eiglith  day,  the  "  dark  cottage" 
was  evidently  crumbling  to  its  fall.  That 
night,  as  the  shadows  of  the  dark  valley  fell 
upon  her,  she  spoke  to  all  about  her  with  a 
heavenly  calmness. 

'*  The  terrors  were  but  shadows  now,  haunting  the  vale  of 

death : 
The  dread  was  drown'd  with  joy,  the  hope  was  fill'd  with 

imraortahty." 

At  last,  towards  sunrise  on  the  ninth  day, 
"  that  religious  and  holy  soul  was  freed  from 
the  body,"  and  winged  its  way  to  the  moun- 
tain of  myrrh  and  the  hill  of  frankincense,  till 
a  better  day  should  break  and  a  brighter  sun 
arise.  It  was  thirty  summers  after  she  had 
"  brought  forth  in  the  flesh  into  this  temj^oral 
light"  him  who,  after  the  travail  of  so  many 
prayers,  she  had  "  brought  forth  in  heart  into 
the  light  eternal." 

As  the  happy  spirit  fled,  Augustine  closed 
her  eyes ;  and  "there  flowed  withal  a  mighty 
sorrow  into  his  heart,  which  was  overflowing 
into  tears," — his  ej^es,  at  the  same  time,  by  the 
violent  command  of  his  mind,  "drinking  up 


196  MEMOIR   OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

their  fountain  wholly  diy."  The  boy  Adeo- 
datus  "  burst  out  into  a  loud  lament ;  "  then, 
checked  b}^  them  all,  he  held  his  peace.  "  In 
like  manner  also,"  says  Augustine,  "  a  childish 
feeling  in  me,  which  was,  through  my  heart's 
3- outhful  voice,  finding  its  vent  in  weejiing,  was 
checked  and  silenced.  For,"  he  adds,  "  we 
thought  it  not  fitting  to  solemnise  that  funeral 
with  tearful  lament  and  groanings,  because 
thereby  do  they  for  the  most  part  express  grief 
for  the  departed,  as  though  unhappy  or  alto- 
gether dead,  whereas  she  was  neither  unhappy 
in  her  death,  nor  altogether  dead.  Of  this  we 
were  assured  on  good  grounds — the  testimony 
of  her  good  conversation  and  of  her  faith  un- 
feigned." 

Meanwhile,  "they,  whoso  office  it  was,  made 
ready  for  the  burial ; "  but  first,  Euodius,  tak- 
ing up  the  Psalter,  began  to  sing  the  plaintive 
ditty — the  whole  little  circle  answering  him — 
"  I  will  sing  of  mercy  and  of  judgment ;  unto 
thee,  0  Lord,  will  I  sing."  ^  The  melody 
brought  together  "  many  brethren  and  reli- 
gious women ;  and,  as  they  sang,  it  seemed  as 

*  Ps.  ci. 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  197 

if  they  had  followed  the  glorified  spirit  aloft, 
and  were  already  sweeping,  on  the  sea  of  glass, 
their  golden  harps.  The  preparation  proceed- 
ed ;  and  I,"  says  he,  "  (in  a  part  of  the  house 
where  I  might  properly)  together  with  those 
who  thought  not  fit  to  leave  me,  discoursed 
upon  something  fitting  the  time,  and,  by  the 
halm  of  truth,  assuaged  the  torment  knowai  to 
Thee,  they  unknowing  and  listening  intently, 
and  conceiving  me  to  be  without  all  sense  of 
sorrow." 

Never  was  filial  heart  so  wrung.  "  Woe 
was  me  in  such  a  strife,"  he  wrote,  long  after- 
wards, recording  those  hours.  "  What  was  it 
which  did  grievously  pain  me  Avithin,  but  a 
fresh  wound  Avrought  through  the  sudden 
wrench  of  that  most  sweet  and  dear  custom  of 
living  together  ?  I  joyed,  indeed,  in  her  testi- 
mony, when,  in  that  her  last  sickness,  mingling 
her  endearments  with  my  acts  of  duty,  she 
called  me  'dutiful,'  and  mentioned  with  great 
affection  and  love,  that  she  never  had  heard 
any  harsh  or  reproachful  sound  uttered  by  my 
mouth  against  her.  But  yet,  O  my  God,  who 
madest  us,  what  comparison  is  there  betwixt 
17* 


198  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

that  honour  which  I  paid  her,  and  her  slaveiy 
for  me?  Being,  then,  forsaken  of  so  great 
comfort  in  her,  my  sonl  was  wounded,  and  that 
life  rent  asunder,  as  it  were,  which,  of  hers  and 
mine  together,  had  been  made  but  one." 

No  wonder,  then,  that  that  manly  face  did, 
that  day,  scarce  conceal,  before  the  little  circle, 
the  inner  harrowing  of  the  stricken  heart.  "  In 
Thy  ears,"  says  he,  "  where  none  of  them 
heard,  I  blamed  the  weakness  of  my  feelings, 
and  refrained  my  flood  of  grief,  which  gave 
way  a  little  unto  me,  but  again  came,  as  with, 
a  tide,  yet  not  so  tts  to  burst  out  into  tears  nor 
to  a  change  of  countenance  ;  still  I  knew  what 
I  was  keeping  down  in  my  heart.  And,  being 
very  much  displeased  that  these  human  things 
had  such  power  over  me,  which  in  the  due  or- 
der and  appointment  of  our  nature,  must  needs 
come  to  pass, — with  a  new  grief  I  grieved  for 
my  grief,  and  was  thus  worn  by  a  double  sor- 
row." 

That  evening,  "  the  corpse  was  carried  to  the 
burial,"  the  mourners  "going  and  returning 
without  tears."  "  Yet,"  says  he,  "  I  was  in  se 
cret   heavily  sad,   and,  with    troubled   mind, 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  109 

prayed  Thee,  as  I  could,  to  lieal  my  sorrow ; 
but  Thou  didst  not."  On  their  return,  he 
"  went  and  bathed,"  having  heard  that  the  batl 
had  its  name  from  its  "  driving  sadness  from 
the  mind  ;  "  but  no  relief  came — he  was  "  the 
same  as  before  he  had  bathed,"  for  "  the  bitter- 
ness of  sorrow  could  not  exude  out  of  his 
heart."  Then,  going  to  rest,  he  "  slept,  and 
woke  again,"  his  "  grief  not  a  little  softened ;" 
and,  as  he  was  alone  in  his  bed,  he  remembered 
those  "true  verses  of  Ambrose" — 

"  Maker  of  all,  the  Lord, 

And  ruler  of  the  height ; 
"Who,  robing  day  in  light  hath  pour'd 
Soft  slumbers  o'er  the  night ; 

That  to  our  limbs  the  power 

Of  toil  may  be  renewed. 
And  hearts  be  raised  that  sink  and  cower, 

And  sorrow  be  subdued." 

By  and  by,  as  the  stunning  grief  wore  off, 
"  I  recovered,"  says  he,  "  by  little  and  little, 
my  former  thoughts  of  Thy  handmaid-— her 
holy  conversation  towards  Thee,  her  holy  ten- 
derness and  observance  towards  us,  whereof  I 
was  suddenly  deprived  ;  and  I  was  minded  to 


200  MEMOTK   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE, 

weep,  ill  Thy  sight,  for  them  and  for  myself, 
in  her  behalf  and  in  my  own.  And  I  gave 
^V' ay  to  the  tears  which  I  before  restrained,  to 
overflow  as  much  as  they  desired ;  reposing 
my  heart  upon  them  :  and  it  found  rest  in 
them,  for  it  v/as  in  Thy  ears,  not  in  those  of 
man  who  would  have  scornfully  interpreted 
my  weeping." 

"And  now,  Lord,"  he  adds,  "in  writing  I 
confess  it  unto  Thee:  read  it  who  will,  and  in- 
terpret it  how  he  will :  and,  if  he  finds  sin 
tlierein,  that  I  wept  for  my  mother  for  a  small 
portion  of  an  hour — the  mother  who  for  the 
time  was  dead  to  mine  eyes,  who  had  for  many 
years  wept  for  me  that  I  might  live  in  Thine 
eyes, — let  him  not  deride  me,  but  rather,  if  he 
be  one  of  large  charity,  let  him  weep  himself 
for  my  sins  unto  Thee,  the  Father  of  all  the 
brethren  of  Thy  Christ." 

It  was  late  in  the  autumn  of  887,  and  in 
Monica's  fifty-sixth  year. 


XXI. 

"  Thy  will  such  an  entrenching  is, 

As  passeth  thought ! 
To  it,  all  strength,  all  subtleties 

Arc  things  of  nought." 

On  the  road  from  Ostia,  there  was  seen  travel- 
ling, one  day,  a  little  company  of  sable 
mourners — weighed  down,  like  the  two  friends 
going  to  Em  mans,  by  some  mysterious  grief. 
And  yet — like  their  prototypes — as  they 
'Svalked  and  were  sad,"  a  gleam  of  sunshine 
Avould  shoot  athwart  their  faces,  as  if  within 
them  their  hearts  "burned."     It  was  Auous- 

o 

tine — bereaved  and  stricken,  yet  brightened  by 
a  most  blessed  hope — on  his  way  for  a  little 
season  to  Rome,  before  resuming  his  journey 
homeward. 

Augustine  at  Rome  !  the  future  Doctor — the 
meek,  childlike  disciple, 

[2on 


202  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

"  Within  the  ancient  city  !  liis  feet 
Standing  within  the  ruiu'd  theatre, 
Where  gladiators  fought,  and  Cliristians  bled ! 

The  past  seera'd  present, 
And  slaughtered  martyrs  rose  to  live  and  speak  1 "' 

Ah!  even  already  there  was  little  else  there 
than  the  past,  with  which  a  soul  so  simple  in 
its  faith,  so  warm  in  its  Christ-affection,  could 
have  fellowship.  Augustine's  Kome  was  the 
Eome  of  St.  Paul,  not  that  of  IJildebrand  and 
of  Borgia.  The  great  Church-father  was  a 
living  soul ;  and  what  communion  has  the 
living  with  the  dead  ? 

Late  in  the  summer,  he  once  more  set  out 
for  Africa.  Landing  at  Carthage,  he  sojourned 
for  some  days  with  a  friend  who,  like  himself, 
since  they  last  met,  had  found  Christ,  and,  *'in 
answer  to  prayer,"  had  just  been  raised  up 
from  the  gates  of  the  grave.  Then,  repairing 
to  his  native  town — where  he  had  a  small 
estate,  left  him  by  his  father, — he  found  a  re- 
treat such  as  his  soul  coveted,  after  its  recent 
tossings.  He  was  joined  by  a  few  bretlircn  ; 
and  with  them  he  freely  shared  his  patrimony, — • 
dedicating  the  next  three  years  to  study  and  to 


MEMOIR    OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  203 

prayer.  As  from  the  desert  witli  its  secret 
trials  and  triumplis  of  faitli — not  from  scenes 
of  fleshly  excitement — the  Master  had  gone 
forth  to  His  ministry, — so  the  disciple  was  to 
go  forth  on  his  errand,  not  from  the  dreams  of 
the  Academic  grove — still  less  from  the  world's 
enticing  blandishments,  but  from  the  quiet 
solitude  with  its  stern  lessons  and  its  searching 
lieavenly  discipline. 

"  Where  is  the  wise,  or  the  loam'd,  or  the  good,  that 
sought  not  solitude  for  tliinking, 
And  from  seclusion's  secret  vale  brought  forth  his 
precious  fruits  ?" 

After  his  own  quaint  fashion,  he  gives  us 
sundry  glimpses  into  the  retreat. 

Luther  tells  us  he  learned  his  theology  upon 
his  knees.  If  Augustine  had  already  learned 
on  his  knees  the  theology  of  conversion,  he 
was  now  to  learn,  in  a  like  method,  the  theol- 
ogy of  the  inner  life.  That  "  warring"  es- 
pecially of  the  two  "  laws" — that  "  lusting  of 
the  flesh  against  the  spirit," — which  constrained 
the  convert  of  Tarsus  to  exclaim,  with  such 
intenseness    of    emotion,   "O    wretched    man 


204  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

that  I  am !  wlio  shall  deliver  me  from  the 
body  of  this  death?"  was  now  to  find  a  battle- 
field in  the  heart  of  Augustine.  And  he,  like 
Paul,  was  to  find,  in  the  unchanging  Saviour, 
the  same  victory  and  the  same  repose. 

And  not  idly  did  he  afterwards  "recount" 
them.  "  These  confessions,"  says  he,  "  praise 
the  God  of  righteousness  and  goodness,  and 
excite  the  human  understanding  and  affection 
toward  Him.  They  did  this  in  me  while  I 
was  writing  them;  and  they  do  it  still  when  I 
read  them." 

One  morning,  after  a  night  of  deep  exercise, 
he  poured  out  his  heart  thus: — "My  groaning 
is  Avitness  that  I  am  disiDleased  with  myself; 
but  Thou  shinest  out,  and  art  pleasing,  and 
beloved,  and  longed  fur, — that  still  more  I  may 
be  ashamed  of  myself  and  renounce  myself, 
and  may  choose  Tliee,  and  please  neither  Thee 
nor  myself  but  in  Thee." 

And  again: — "How  near,  by  Thy  gift,  I 
approach  unto  Thee !  and  how  much  I  am  held 
back  by  my  own  weight !  My  good  deeds  are 
Thine  appointments  and  Thy  gifts;  my  evil 
ones  are  my  offences  and  Thy  judgments.     Let 


:memoir  of  ST.  auCxUstine.  205 

my  brethren  breathe  freely  at  the  one,  sigh  at 
the  other ;  and  let  hymns  and  weeping  go  up 
into  Thy  sight  out  of  their  hearts,  which  are 
Thy  censers." 

Another  day,  he  says : — "  Not  with  doubting, 
but  with  assured  confidence,  do  I  love  Thee, 
the  Lord !  Thou  has  stricken  my  heart  with 
Thy  word,  and  I  love  Thee.  But  what  do  I 
love,  when  I  love  Thee  ?  Not  beauty  of 
bodies  ;  nor  the  fair  harmony  of  time ;  nor  the 
brightness  of  the  light — so  gladsome  to  our 
eyes ;  nor  sweet  melodies  of  varied  songs  ;  nor 
the  fragrant  smell  of  flowers,  and  ointments, 
and  spices ;  not  manna  and  honey ;  not  limbs 
acceptable  to  embracements  of  flesh.  ISTone  of 
these  T  love,  when  T  love  my  God ;  and  yet  I 
love  a  kind  of  light,  and  melody,  and  fragrance, 
and  meat,  and  embracement,  when  I  love  my 
God  who  is  the  light,  melody,  fragrance,  meat,  ' 
embracement,  of  my  inner  man, — where  there 
shineth  unto  my  soul  what  space  cannot  contain, 
and  there  soundeth  what  time  beareth  not 
away,  and  there  smelleth  what  breathing  dis- 
perseth  not,  and  there  tasteth  what  eating 
diminisheth  not,  and  there  clingeth  what  satiety 
18 


206  MEMOIR    OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

clivorceth  not.  This  is  it  which  I  love,  when 
I  love  ray  God."* 

Each  new  week  seemed  to  brighten  his 
hope — freshen  his  penitence — deepen  his  love. 
*'  Give  me,  dear  God,"  we  find  him  praying  on 
one  occasion,  "hearty  repentance,  an  humble 
and  contrite  spirit !  Make  my  eyes  a  fountain 
of  tears,,  and  my  hands  liberal  dispensers  of 
alms,  and  unwearied  instruments  of  good  works ! 
Thou  art  my  King;  reign  absolute  in  my 
heart  I  Subdue  and  expel  thence  all  rebellious 
passions !  Quench  all  the  impure  burnings  of 
fleshly  lusts !  and  kindle  in  it  the  bright  fire 
of  Thy  lover 

And,  on  another  occasion,  thus: — "  Sw^eetest, 
kindest,  dearest  Lord!  most  mighty  King  of 
glory,  who  hast  ascended  with  great  triumph 
unto  Thy  kingdom  in  heaven,  and  sittest  en- 
throned at  the  right  hand  of  the  Father !  draw 
me  up  to  Thee,  that,  by  Thy  powerful  guidance 
and   more   than   magnetic  force,    I   may  run 

<>  He  is  here  alluding  to  that  poor  vapoury  pantheitm, 
which,  under  the  guise  of  an  universal  theophany,  converting 
every  being  and  every  plant  and  every  passing  breeze  into  a 
manifestation  of  God,  really  exiled  God  into  the  unapproach- 
able remoteness  of  an  unsubstantial  sliadow. 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUdUSTINE.  207 

after  tlie  odour  of  Thy  ointments  and  not  foint! 
Draw  this  thirsty  soul  to  the  rivers  of  eternal 
pleasure — to  the  fountain  of  living  water,  that 
I  may  drink  my  fill,  and  live  for  ever,  0  God 
of  my  life!" 

His  simple,  childlike  faith  fixed  its  eye  less 
and  less  upon  inward  frames,  and  still  more  and 
more  upon  the  outward  Christ.  "  My  soul," 
said  he,  one  day,  to  a  friend  who  was  enquiring 
earnestly  the  way  of  peace,  "is  rooted  and 
grounded  in  the  hope  of  glory,  past  the  power 
of  being  shaken  with  any  melancholy  mis- 
givings And  the  foundations  which  bear  me 
up  in  this  firmness  of  mind  arc  throe :  First,  I 
consider  the  greatness  of  God's  love,  expressed 
in  my  adoption;  secondly,  the  truth  of  God, 
which  hath  promised  this  blessedness;  and, 
thirdly,  the  power  of  God  to  make  good  to  the 
uttermost  whatever  He  hath  promised.  No 
want  of  desert  on  my  part,  not  even  the  lowest 
and  most  mortifying  thoughts  of  my  vileness 
and  unworthiness,  nor  the  highest  and  most 
enlarged  notions  of  the  excellence  of  the  bliss 
in  heaven,  can  cast  me  down  from  this  high 
tower  of  hope. 


208  MEMOir.   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

And,  one  evening,  alone,  he  gave  form  to  his 
longings  thus: — "My  mind  entirely  dedicates 
itself  to  Thee — gasps  and  pants  after  Thee — 
and  covets  no  other  bliss  than  the  sight  of  her 
Beloved.  I  taste  no  other  pleasure  but  that 
which  results  from  speaking,  hearing,  writing, 
conferring,  and  perpetually  dwelling  upon  the 
meditation  of  Thee  and  Thy  glory.  And  how 
sweet  the  refreshment  and  the  inward  calm 
which  these  sweet  remembrances  give  me  in 
the  midst  of  a  tempestuous  world  !" 

And,  another  night: — "I  love  Thee,  0  my 
Lord,  and  desire  to  love  Thee  every  day  more 
fervently  ;  for  Thou  art  beautiful  and  amiable 
above  the  sons  of  men,  and  deservest  an 
affection  equal  to  Thine  own  adorable  and  in- 
comprehensible excellency.  Oh,  let  that  fire 
descend  into  my  heart,  which  burns  with  a 
bright  and  holy  flame  never  languishing,  never 
to  be  quenched  !  May  every  part  of  me  feel 
the  kindly  heat!  May  it  expand  itself  and 
burn  up  every  other  passion,  that,  all  the  dross 
of  vain  and  polluted  passions  and  desires  being 
entirely  consumed,  I  may  be  turned  all  into 
love,  and  know  no  other  object  of  that  love 


MEMOIR   OF   Sr.    AUGUSTINE.  209 

but  Thee  alone,  mj  dearest,  sweetest,  and  most 
lovely  Saviour! 

A  holy  man  once  indited  his  soul's  yearnings 
after  God,  thus : — 

*'  Come,  my  Joy,  my  Love,  my  Heart ! 
Such  a  Joy,  as  none  can  move ; 
Such  a  Love,  as  none  can  part ; 
Such  a  Heart,  as  joys  in  love." 

Augustine  \va;  now  yearning  after  a  like  ful- 
ness of  joy  and  of  love.  "  0  how  happy  will 
my  soul  be,"  was  his  breathing,  one  day, 
"when  it  shall  be  admitted  to  see  Thy  glory! 
For  oh,  how  great  is  Thy  goodness,  and  how 
great  is  Thy  beauty!  and  how  transporting 
arc  those  secret  pleasures  which  overflow  the 
hearts  of  Thy  beloved  who  love  and  seek  and 
desire  to  know  nothing  but  Thee !  Happy  are 
they  who  have  no  other  hope !  happy,  whose 
constant  employment  is  praying  to,  and  con- 
versing with.  Thee !  happy,  whose  solitude  is 
spent  in  awful  silence,  and  in  heavenly  rap- 
tures, and  in  constant  watchfulness  over  them- 
selves! happy,  who,  even  while  in  this  frail 
body,  anticipate,  so  far  as  their  condition  will 
allow,  the  ineffable  sweetness  of  their  fature 
glories!"  18* 


XXII. 

<<  Wlien  first  Thy  sweet  and  gracious  eye 
Vouchsafed,  even  in  the  midst  of  youth  and  night, 
To  look  upon  me,  who,  before,  did  lie 

Weltering  in  sin  ; 
I  felt  a  sugar'd  strange  delight. 
Passing  all  cordials  made  by  any  art, 
Bedew,  embalm,  and  overrun  my  heart, 

And  take  it  in." 

A  GREAT  Cliurcli-doctor  uttered,  on  Ms  death- 
bed, these  parting  words : — "  Oh  that  all  my 
brethren  may  know  what  a  Master  I  have 
served,  and  what  peace  I  have  this  day !  I 
shall  live  and  adore  Him :  glory,  glory  to  my 
Creator  and  to  my  Kedeemer  for  ever !  Oh 
for  arms  to  embrace  Him  !  "  Augustine,  also, 
was  learning,  in  these  months,  the  same  secret 
of  all  life  and  of  all  power — a  deep  personal 
attachment  to  his  Lord.  "Grant,  I  beseech 
Thee,"  we  find  him  whispering  in  His  ear,  one 
day,  ''  that  my  mouth  may  ever  be  full  of  Thy 
praise,  and  my  heart  overflow  with  Thy  love. 

[210] 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  211 

Oh  that  it  might  please  my  sweetest,  dearest 
Jesus  to  fill  my  heart  with  such  a  love  of  Ilim 
as  never  can  be  quenched !  to  be  ever  present 
in  my  mind,  that  I  may  be  all  over  love,  and 
burn  with  perpetual  desires  of  His  company 
and  enjoyment !  " 

Yinet  once  remarked — "This  single  word, 
this  single  object,  the  Cross,  may  suffice  to 
make  Christians;  and,  without  it,  nothing 
suffices."  And  he  added  —  "  True  reformers 
have  at  all  times  carried  back  the  view  of  the 
Church  towards  this  centre ;  and  every  Church, 
by  looking  back  towards  it,  has  regained  the 
life  which  it  could  not  find,  nor  even  seek, 
elsewhere."  Augustine,  more  than  any  other 
Church-father,  was  to  fix,  for  centuries,  during 
a  dark  era,  thousands  of  longing  eyes  upon 
the  same  grand  central  object ;  and,  to  fit  him 
for  the  work,  God  was  revealing  to  him,  day 
by  day,  fresh  glimpses  of  His  glory.  "  Thou 
seest,  0  my  soul !  "  he  wrote,  on  another  oc- 
casion, "  what  noble  pledges  Thou  hast  of  the 
affection  of  Thy  spouse.  When  I  reflect  upon 
the  constant  presence  and  the  abundance  of 
His  mercies  toward  me,  I  am  almost  tempted 


212  MF.MOTR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

to  say,  that  1113^  solvation  is  His  only  busine?s 
and  care.  For  sure  he  could  not  be  more  ten- 
der of  my  safety,  more  ready  to  relieve  all  my 
distresses,  to  comfort  all  my  sorrows,  to  supply 
all  my  wants,  to  guard  me  in  all  my  dangers, 
could  He  be  supposed  to  overlook  the  ex- 
io'encies  of  all  His  other  creatures  and  confine 

o 

His  good  -providence  to  me  alone, — so  ^vatch- 
ful  does  He  shew  Himself  over  all  my  affairs 
— so  ever  present  to,  nay,  ever  preventing, 
my  earliest  wishes." 

The  name  of  Christ  may  be  on  the  lips  of 
the  divine,  and  yet  be  only  an  idea.  The  man 
who  is  to  speak  of  Him  worthily,  and,  by  his 
words,  is  to  move  his  fellows,  must  not  only 
think  of  Him  but  love  him  —  must  gaze 
adoringly  on  His  person,  and  walk  confidingly 
in  His  fellowship.  "  I  am  the  light,"  said 
Jesus,  on  one  occasion,  to  the  benighted 
Church-teachers  of  the  day,  revealing  indi- 
rectly the  secret  of  their  blindness;  "he  that 
followeth  me  shall  not  walk  in  darkness,  but 
shall  have  the  light  of  life."  Augustine  was 
laying,  broad  and  deep,  the  foundations  of  his 
future  work  as  a  divine,  thus: — "While  my 


MEMOIR  OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  213 

tliouglits  arc  engaged,  I  feel  a  new  and  unusual 
plcasui-e,  wliicii  makes  such  strong,  such  de- 
lightful impressions  as  seem  to  transport  me 
out  of  myself.  Methinks  I  am  in  an  instant 
changed,  and  become  quite  another  creature ; 
and  joys  come  flowing  in  upon  me,  more  ex- 
quisite than  I  am  able  to  express.  Mj  mind 
is  enlarged;  my  understanding  clear  and 
bright;  my  heart  and  its  affections  enlight- 
ened and  purified ;  all  my  desires  filled  with 
pleasure ;  and  my  soul  is  perfect  rapture  and 
triumph.  I  am  no  longer  here,  methinks,  but 
translated — I  know  not  how  nor  whither — to 
some  unknown  region  of  bliss ;  I  embrace,  as 
it  were,  with  a  most  ardent  love,  some  dear 
object  with  wliich  I  am  not  yet  perfectly  ac- 
quainted; I  hold  Him  fast,  and  strive,  all  I 
can,  never  to  part  with  Him  more." 

Neander  once  rebuked  the  cold  utterers  of 
theologic  dogmas,  by  announcing  his  famous 
apophthegm — "It  is  the  heart  which  makes 
the  divine."  And,  in  his  last  years,  the  veteran 
theologue,  vindicating  the  watchword  of  his 
earlier  days,  said — "  We  need  not  be  ashamed 
of  this  maxim:  shame  rather  to  those  who 


214  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

were  bold  enougli  to  ridicule  it:  they  have 
pronounced  sentence  on  themselves.  It  was 
the  watchword  of  all  those  who  have  called 
forth  theology  from  dead  forms  to  the  living 
spirit  of  God's  Word."  The  great  African 
doctor  was  now  receiving  a  Divine  training 
which  should  preserve  him  effectually  from 
this  peril.  On  another  occasion,  he  wrote: — 
"It  is  with  a  sort  of  delightful  difficulty  that 
I  struggle  not  to  let  that  break  from  me,  which 
of  all  things  I  wish  to  keep  for  ever  in  ni}^ 
arms.  For  in  Ilim  my  soul  seems  to  have 
found  the  complement  and  end  of  all  her  de- 
sires. This  thought  creates  that  eager  and 
inexpressible  transport  of  joy,  that  she  seeks 
nothing  —  covets  nothing  —  beyond  it,  bnt 
would  esteem  her  happiness  complete,  could 
she  continue  always  to  be  as  she  now  is.  AVhat 
can  this  delicious  object  be,  that  pours  in  such 
a  torrent  of  rapturous  and  uncorrupted  pleas- 
ure ?  Is  it  my  beloved  ?  Undoubtedly  it  can 
be  none  but  He.  'Tis  thus  my  Lord  vouch- 
safes to  visit  me.  He  comes  in  secret — not  to 
be  seen,  not  to  be  discerned  by  any  of  my 
senses.     He  comes  to  touch  me,  but  not  to 


MEMOIK   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  215 

shew  His  face.  lie  comes  to  put  mo  in  mind 
of  Him,  but  not  to  let  me  perfectly  understand 
Him.  He  comes  to  me  to  give  me  a  taste  of 
His  sweetness,  but  not  to  give  me  His  whole 
self  However,  this  is  what  my  condition  will 
admit ;  and  it  is  an  assured  foretaste  of  heaven 
— an  inviolable  earnest  and  token  of  His  mar- 
rying me  to  Himself" 

Luther's  great  business,  as  the  preacher  and 
doctor  of  the  Keformation,  was  with  the  sin- 
ner's conscience;  and,  to  fit  him  for  this  work, 
God  was  pleased,  through  the  most  harro\ving 
experiences,  to  lead  him  to  the  Blood,  and  to 
keep  him  there.  Before  he  proclaimed,  with 
a  voice  of  thunder,  the  great  dogma  that  "jus- 
tification by  faith  alone  is  the  article  of  a  stand- 
ing or  of  a  falling  Church,"  he  had  had  it 
graven  by  God's  own  finger  upon  the  fleshly 
tablet  of  his  blood-sprinkled  heart.  "  My 
heart,"  said  he,  unfolding  the  secret  spring  of 
his  unfaltering  energy  in  setting  forth  the 
"virtue"  of  the  sin-cleansing  blood,  "is  gov- 
erned by  one  ruling  principle — belief  in  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  is  the  subject  of  all  my 
meditations,  both  by  day  and   by  night — the 


216  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

beginning,  the  middle,  and  the  end  of  all  my 
thoughts.'"  In  like  manner,  he  who  for  so 
man}^  years  was  to  be  the  Church's  almost  only 
beacon  in  the  dark  night  which  was  at  hand, 
had  teachings,  such  as  God  only  can  convey, 
concerning  the  same  atoning  blood.  "  My 
conscience,"  he  whispered  to  a  visitor,  at  the 
retreat,  one  day,  '4s  all  over  satisfaction;  the 
anguish  of  ni}^  past  sufferings  is  quite  swallo^^•ed 
up  ;  and  not  so  much  as  a  troublesome  remem- 
brance of  them  is  left  behind."  And  how  ? 
"  By  that  most  holy,  that  most  precious  blood 
\yhich  He  was  content  to  shed  upon  the  cross 
for  our  redemption.  He  hath  hidden  my  sins 
in  His  wounds,  and  washed  my  stains  in  His 
most  precious  blood.  I  armed  an  angry  jus- 
tice against  mj^self ;  and  it  is  discharged  upon 
His  head :  mine  is  the  crime,  and  His  the 
torture." 

Christ  is  oftentimes  divided;  at  least,  in 
men's  minds.  One,  for  example,  makes  His 
person  ever3^thing,  to  the  comparative  exclu- 
sion of  His  work, — whilst  another  mognilies 
His  work  to  the  comparative  neglect  of  His 
person.     Again,  one  makes  the  atoning  blood 


MEMOIIl   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  217 

ever^^thing,  to  the  exclusion  of  tlie  vicarious 
obedience ;  whilst  another  overlays  the  blood 
by  giving  an  exaggerated  place  to  the  obedi- 
ence. By  that  teaching  of  the  heart  which  is 
so  infallible  a  guide  into  "all  truth,"  Augus- 
tine was  learning  to  assign  to  each  thing  its 
right  place.  "  His  piety,"  he  added,  on  the 
occasion  last  noted,  alluding  to  Christ's  obedi- 
ence, "suffices  for  my  want  of  it;  HLs  ready 
service  for  my  perverseness ;  Ilis  meekness 
for  my  untractable  temper ;  His  humility  for 
iny  pride ;  His  patience  for  my  discontent ; 
His  kindness  for  my  hard-heartedness ;  His 
calmness  of  soul  for  my  fretfulness  and  unruly 
passions ;  His  gentleness  for  my  rage ;  His 
universal  and  unwearied  love  for  my  hatred, 
and  revenge,  and  cruelty." 

Yinet,  speaking  of  the  power  of  the  cross  to 
sanctify  the  life,  says — "  Looking  alone  can 
render  to  action,  not  that  feverish  vivacity 
which  our  passions  will  always  give  it  in 
abundance,  but  that  calm  force,  that  degree, 
that  delicate  precision,  that  beaut}^,  which  pas- 
sion can  never  give."  Augustine,  also,  before 
he  had  thought  of  its  place  in  a  theological 
19 


218  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

system,  was  already  fixing  unconsciously  in  its 
fitting  place  in  his  own  life  this  great  centre- 
fact.  "Let  the  Lord,"  said  he,  another  day, 
"  be  the  grand  subject  of  our  study ;  let  Hiiii 
preside  over  all  our  inclinations — be  the  ulti- 
mate aim  of  all  our  desires — dwell  always  in 
our  thoughts — and  reign  supreme  as  the  gov- 
erning principle  of  all  our  actions.  In  a  word, 
let  us  contemplate,  and  choose,  and  remember, 
and  reverence  Him  above  all,  and  make  it  our 
business  to  live  to  him  alone." 

And,  some  weeks  afterwards,  he  recorded 
his  secret  breathing  thus : — "  Let  me  drink  of 
thy  heavenly  sweetness,  and  be  so  ravished 
with  the  taste,  as  ever  after  to  disrelish  the 
sensual  delights  of  the  world,  to  despise  its 
pleasures,  and  cheerfully  to  encounter  the 
afflictions  of  this  present  life ;  and  so  to  fix  my 
heart  upon  true  nobler  joys,  as  always  to  dis- 
dain the  empty  and  transitory  shadows  which 
flesh  and  blood  is  so  foolishly  fond  of,  and  so 
fearful  of  parting  with." 

And,  again : — "  Let  me  not,  I  beseech  Thee, 
esteem  or  delight  in  anything  but  Thee ;  let 
all  which  this  whole  world  can  give  without 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  219 

Thee,  be  counted  no  better  than  dross  and 
dung.  Let  me  hate  most  irreconcilably  what- 
ever displeases  Thee ;  and,  what  Thou  lovest, 
let  me  most  eagerly  desire  and  incessantly  pur- 
sue. Let  me  feel  no  satisfaction  in  any  joys 
without  Thee  ;  nor  any  reluctancy  in  the  great- 
est sufferings  for  Thee.  Let  me  aim  at  nothing 
so  much  as  to  do  Thee  service ;  nor  detest  and 
avoid  anything  in  comparison  of  sinning  against 
Thee.  Let  my  ears  be  ever  open  to  the  voice 
of  Thy  law ;  and  suffer  not  my  '  heart  to  incline 
to  any  evil  things,'  that  I  may  never  comply 
with  'them  that  practise  wickedness,'  nor  take 
shelter  in  trifling  pretences  to  excuse  or  indulge 
myself  in  doing  what  I  ought  not." 

These  are  Thy  teachings,  0  Divine  Spirit ! 
And  thus  thou  girdest  for  life's  great  battle 
every  servant  whom  Thou  choosest. 

"  How  dear  to  me,  0  God.  Thy  counsels  are  I 
Who  may  with  Thee  compare  1" 


XXIII. 

"  Unblamable  iu  word  and  thought, 
A  man  arises  God  himself  hath  taught — 
To  prove  that  without  Christ  all  gain  is  loss — 
All  hope  despair  that  stands  not  on  His  cross." 

Augustine  had  now  been  three  years  in  his 
htippy  retreat,  when,  one  day,  a  letter  arrived 
from  Hippo,  a  city  of  some  note  on  the  coast, 
urging  him  to  visit  the  "  imperial  commis- 
sioner," who  had  heard  of  his  "philosophic 
fame,"  and  who  earnestly  desired  his  instruc- 
tions. After  some  hesitation,  he  went, — gath- 
ering that  it  was  of  the  Lord. 

On  his  arrival,  he  was  welcomed  by  other 
citizens  besides  the  Roman  magistrate.  The 
church  of  Hippo,  after  a  protracted  skim- 
ber,  had  been  visited  lately  with  a  Divine 
awakening.  Its  quickened  members  had  heard 
of  Augustine.  And  who  so  fit  to  speak  to 
them  the  words  of  eternal  life  ? 

[220] 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  221 

It  was  by  no  orclinarj  discipline  that  God 
had  trained  him  to  be  "  one  of  His  ministers." 
Before  quitting  his  retreat,  he  had  poured  out 
his  breathings,  thus: — "0  Holy  Spirit,  who 
proceed  est  from  the  Almighty  Father  and  His 
most  blessed  Son,  descend  plentifully  into  my 
heart !  lighten  the  dark  corners  of  this  neglect- 
ed dwelling,  and  scatter  there  thy  cheerfid 
beams !  dwell  in  that  soul  which  longs  to  be 
Thy  temple !  water  ^at  barren  soil,  overgrown 
with  weeds  and  briers,  and  make  it  fruitful  with 
Thy  dew  from  heaven !  Heal  the  lurking  dis- 
tempers of  my  inward  man!  strike  me  through 
with  the  dart  of  Thy  love,  and  kindle  holy  fires 
in  my  breast,  such  as  may  flame  out  in  a  bright 
and  devout  zeal — may  actuate  and  enliven  the 
heavy  mass — may  burn  up  all  the  dross  of 
sensual  affections — and,  diffusing  themselves 
through  every  part,  may  possess  and  purify 
and  warm  my  whole  spirit  and  soul  and  body." 

Herbert,  describing  a  model-pastor,  says,  that 
"the  chief  and  top  of  his  knowledge  consists 
in  the  book  of  books,  the  storehouse  and  mag- 
azine of  life  and  comfort,  the  Holy  Scriptures. 
There  he  sucks  and  lives."  Augustine  in  these 
19^- 


222  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

years  had  lived  upon  the  Word  as  his  daily 
bread.  "  With  his  attached  companions,"  says 
Possidius,  "he  lived  to  God  by  fastings,  by 
prayers,  and  by  good  deeds,  meditating  on  the 
law  of  the  Lord  day  and  night."  * 

And  the  study  had  quickened  his  steps  heav- 
enward. "  Oh,  that  life,"  we  find  him  breath- 
ing, one  day,  "  which  God  hath  laid  up  in  store 
for  them  that  love  Him !  That  life  indeed ! 
That  happy,  secure,  serene,  and  most  amiable 
— that  pure  and  holy — life  !  That  life  which 
fears  no  death,  which  feels  no  sorrow,  which 
knows  no  sin,  which  languishes  under  no  pain 
— is  distracted  with  no  care — is  ruffled  with 
no  passion — ^lies  at  the  mercy  of  no  accidents ! 
That  incorruptible,  that  unchangeable  life, 
which  hath  everything  that  can  attract  our  af- 
fections and  command  our  esteem !  There, 
there  will  be  no  enemies  to  assault  us,  no  envy 
to  undermine  us,  no  temptation  to  seduce  us, 
no  fears  to  confound  us ;  but  perfect  love  and 
harmony  of  souls — a  day  which  never  declines 

*  "  Cum  iis  qui  eidem  adhaerebant,  Deo  vivebat,  jejuniis, 
orationibus,  bonisque  operibus,  in  lege  Domini  mcditans  die 
et  nocte." 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  223 

— a  ligLt  which  never  goes  oat.  There  we 
shall  see  God  face  to  face  ;  and,  when  we  awake 
up  after  His  likeness,  our  souls  shall  be  satisfied 
with  it.  This  let  me  speak  and  hear  of  con- 
tinually." 

The  man  in  the  picture  in  the  Intrepretcr's 
private  room  had  "  the  world  beneath  his  feet." 
Augustine  had  come  forth  from  his  rcti"eat 
with  this  "furnishing"  of  a  true  pastor. 
"Lord,"  he  said,  another  da}^,  "I  bless  Thoc 
that  Thou  grantest  me  some  refreshment,  sonij 
loose,  from  the  miseries,  and  toils,  and  incum- 
brances of  a  troublesome,  perishing  life. 
Blessed  are  all  Thy  saints,  my  God  and  King, 
who  have  travelled  over  the  tempestuous  sea  of 
mortality,  and  have  at  last  made  the  desired 
port  of  peace  and  felicity — fearless  of  future 
hazards,  and  full  of  perpetual  joy.  This  sea, 
Thou,  my  Saviour,  didst  condescend  to  tr}^  and 
to  be  tossed  upon.  Oh,  cast  a  gracious  eye 
upon  us  who  are  still  in  our  dangerous  voyage ! 
Thou  hast  promised  to  make  us  immortal  with 
and  by  Thyself,  and  to  bestow  upon  us  the  ev- 
erlasting felicity  of  Thy  presence :  Oh,  reraeni- 
16 


224  MEMOIE   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

ber  and  succour  us  in  our  rougli  storm  of  trou- 
bles and  temptations ! " 

Many  weeks  had  not  passed,  when  his  burn- 
ing zeal  for  souls  and  his  valiant  defense  of  the 
truth  drew  towards  him  all  eyes  and  all 
hearts. 

Hippo,  in  those  days,  had  for  its  bishop  a 
godly  minister,  who,  having  shared  in  the  late 
awakening,  had  begun  painfully  to  feel  tlie 
need  of  some  firmer  hand  and  more  watchful 
eye  than  his  to  tend  Christ's  flock  and  to  stem 
the  rising  tide  of  heresy  and  of  corruption. 
One  morning,  in  the  pulpit,  the  venerable  man, 
with  great  simplicity  and  affection,  bid  the 
matter  before  the  people,  telling  them  that 
they  needed  another  pastor,  and  that  he  had 
been  praying  to  the  Master  to  send  them  one. 
AVith  one  consent,  the  congregation-  named  the 
stranger  who  had  lately  come  among  them. 
Valerius  gave  thanks  that  the  Lord  had  heard 
his  prayers.  And  Augustine,  who  was  pres- 
ent, was  summoned  to  feed  the  flock. 

Overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  the  greatness 
of  the  work  and  of  his  own  unfitness  for  such 


MEMOIR  OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE.  225 

a  charge,  he  gave  vent  to  a  flood  of  tears.* 
"All!  Lord  God!"  was  his  secret  thought; 
"behold,  I  cannot  speak;  for  I  am  a  child. 
But,  as  he  pondered,  in  his  closet,  that  night, 
on  the  Divine  leadings  by  which  he  had  been 
conducted  through  so  many  successive  mazes 
to  that  spot,  and  as  he  felt  rising  within  him  a 
fresh  yearning  over  souls,  it  seemed  as  if  a 
voice  from  heaven  were  whispering  to  him — 
"  Say  not,  I  am  a  child ;  for  thou  shalt  go  to 
all  that  I  shall  send  thee,  and,  whatsoever  I 
command  thee,  thou  shalt  speak."  A  few 
more  months  were  given,  in  his  old  retreat,  to 
special  study  and  to  prayer ;  and,  returning  to 
Ilippo,  he  was  ordained  a  presbyter,  to  the 
great  joy  of  all.* 

*  Possidius  writes :  —  "  Valerius,  episcopus  Hipponensis, 
quum  flagitante  ecclesiastica  uecessitate  de  providendo  et  or- 
diuaudo  presbytero  civitati  plebern  Dei  alloqueretur  et  exlior- 
taretur  ;  jam  scieutes  catliolici  saucti  A-Ugustiiii  propositum 
et  doctrinam,  manu  injecta  (quoniam  et  idem  in  populo  secu- 
rus,  et  ignarus  quid  futurum  esset,  adstabat)  eum  ergo  tenu- 
erunt,  et  ut  in  talibus  consuetura  est,  episcopo  ordinandum 
intulerunt,  omnibus  id  uno  consensu  et  desiderio  fieri  perfi- 
cique  petentibus,  magnoque  studio  et  clamore  flagitantibus, 
ubertim  eo  flente." 

*  Possidius  writes  again :—"  Sanctus  vero  Valerius,  ordi- 


226  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  392,  and  in  his  thirtj- 
ninth  year. 

nator  ejus,  ut  erat  vir  plus,  et  Deum  timens,  exultabat,  et 
Deo  gratias  agebat  suas  exauditas  a  Domino  fuisse  preces, 
quas  se  frequentissime  fudisse  narrabat,  ut  sibi  divinitus  homo 
concederetur  talis,  qui  posset  verbo  Dei  et  doctrina  salubri 
ecclesiam  Domini  aedificare." 


XXIV. 

"  Grace  makes  the  slave  a  freeman." 
"  Bohold,  what  fire  is  in  his  eye,  what  fervour  on  his  cheek  I 

Herbert  has  described  the  pulpit  as  the  min- 
ister's ''joy  and  throne;"  and  the  characteris- 
tic of  his  "  sermon,"  he  says,  is  "holiness" — 
"he  is  not   witty,  or  learned,  or  eloquent,  but 

HOLY." 

If  ever  pastor  "approved  himself"  thus 
"  unto  God,"  it  was  Augustine  during  these 
years.  The  good  bishop,  greatly  his  inferior 
in  talent,  was  not  ashamed  to  give  to  his  new 
associate  the  commanding  place  for  which  both 
nature  and  grace  had  so  evidently  fitted  him. 
Occupying  the  pulpit  very  often  in  Yalerius' 
presence — "  a  thing  previously  unknown  in 
Africa" — he  would  plead  with  souls  after  a 

[227] 


228  MEMOIR   OF   Sr.    AUGUSriXE. 

fashion  not  a  little  startlinsr  in  that  Laodicean 


o 


''  Oh,  unspeakable  love  !  "  he  would  say,  in 
some  of  his  fervent  appeals  ;  "  oh,  sweetness  of 
mercy  inconceivable !  Oh,  most  amazing  con- 
descension !  that  God,  for  the  sake  of  man, 
should  be  made  man — that  God  for  man  should 
die  in  the  flesh — that  He  should  submit  to  be 
*  tempted  in  all  things  like  as  we  are,  only 
without  sin  ! '  See  at  how  inestimable  a  price, 
see  with  what  difficulty,  man  was  redeemed, 
who  had  forfeited  and  enslaved  himself  to  the 
devil,  and,  had  he  not  been  ransomed  at  so  vast 
an  expense,  must  unavoidably  have  suffered 
eternal  damnation,  with  that  tyrannical  master 
of  his  own  choosing !  These  things  will  shew 
thee,  O  man,  how  much  thou  art  bound  to  love 
God,  and,  if  He  calls  thee  to  it,  how  patiently, 
how  willingly,  nay,  with  how  cheerful  and 
eager  a  zeal,  thou  oughtest  to  endure  hardships, 
and  pain,  and  tortures,  for  Him  who  bath  en- 

*  "  Et  eidem  Presbytero,"  says  Possidius,  "potestatem 
dedit  coram  se  in  ecclesia  Evangeliuiu  pncdicandi  ac  frequcn- 
);issime  tractaudi.  Uude,  acceusa  et  ardens,  olcvata  super 
pandcl^brum,  lucorua,  omnibus  qui  in  domo  erant,  lucebat." 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  229 

dured    so    much,    incomparably    greater,    for 
tliee ! " 

"  And,  therefore,"  he  would  proceed  with 
deepening  emotion,  "  let  thy  soul  gladly  em- 
brace thy  crucified  Jesus  ;  let  it  drink  deep  of 
His  most  precious  blood  ;  let  this  most  moving 
theme  be  thy  constant  meditation,  that  thou 
mayest  never  for  one  moment  be  unmindful  of 
Ilim  that  died  for  thee.  Determine  from  hence- 
forth not  to  know  anything  save  Jesus  Christ 
and  Him  crucified,  lest  other  vain  mistaken 
notions  should  draw  thy  knowledge  off  from 
the  firm  bottom  of  saving  faith.  And,  oh  !  let 
this  His  wonderful  love  take  possession  of  all 
the  love  thou  art  capable  of,  lest  any  rival  pas- 
sion insinuate  itself  into  thy  heart,  and  thou  be 
swallowed  up  with  a  torrent  of  worldly  affec- 
tions." 

Another  secret  of  successful  preaching  Her- 
bert describes  as  "  dipping  and  seasoning  all 
your  words  and  sentences  in  your  heart,  before 
they  come  into  your  mouth, — ^truly  affecting 
and  cordially  expressing  all  that  you  say  ;  so 
that  the  auditors  may  plainly  perceive  every 
word  is  heart-deep.''^  The  preacher  of  Hippo 
20 


230  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

liad  learned  the  heavenly  art  of  dipping  his 
words  heart-deep.  "  What  glowing  in  niy 
breast  is  this  I  feel  ?  "  he  would  say.  ''  What 
light  that  darts  its  rays  into  my  soul  ?  0  Fire 
that  art  never  quenched,  kindle  my  affections  ! 
O  Sun  of  righteoQsuess,  that  never  settest — 
never  art  clouded,  shine  in  my  heart  1  How 
sweet  is  Thy  warmth  !  how  secret  and  pleasant 
Thy  cheerful  light !  O  let  me  ever  be  inflamed 
with  Thj^  Divine,  Thy  delightful  beams  ! 
Wretched  are  they  that  burn  with  impure 
fires  :  wretched  that  walk  by  any  other  light, 
and  remain  destitute  of  Thine  :  wretched  those 
blind  eyes  which  do  not,  wretched  those  dim 
eyes  which  can  not,  wretched  those  wilful  eyes 
which  wink  hard  and  will  not,  see  the  truth ! 
O  miserable  wretches,  who  are  not  sensible  of 
the  worth  of  what  they  lose !  And  yet  more 
miserable  those  hardened  souls,  which  are  sen- 
sible of  their  loss  and  ruin,  but  nevertheless 
stumble  and  fall  with  eyes  broad  open,  and  go 
down  quick  into  hell !  " 

The  "  man  in  the  picture,"  as  he  ''  pleaded 
with  men,"  had  "  his  eyes  lifted  up  to  heaven." 
Never  had  preacher  been  taught  moi^c  impres- 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  231 

Bivel}^  that  "  it  is  not  of  him  that  willeth,  nor 
of  him  that  ranneth,  but  of  God  that  sheweth 
mercy."  "  Too  late,"  he  would  whisper,  in  his 
secret  thoughts,  before  going  forth  to  preach, 
"  I  am  brought  to  a  due  sense  and  knowledge 
of  Thee.  A  thick  and  gloomy  cloud  hung  too 
long  before  my  blinded  eyes,  through  which  I 
was  not  able  to  discern  the  Sun  of  righteous- 
ness, and  light  of  truth.  I  was  muffled  up  in 
darkness — a  child  of  darkness,  and  did  not  only 
endure  but  love  my  darkness,  because  as  yet 
in  ignorance  of  the  truth.  I  was  blind  and 
fond  of  my  defect  and  misery,  and  every  day 
Ijcwildered  more  and  more  in  darkness  which 
might  even  be  felt.  And  what  kind  Friend 
was  he  that  took  me  by  the  hand  to  draw  me 
out  of  this  shadow  of  death  ?  Who  so  com- 
passionate a  guide  to  this  blind  wretch, — to 
seek  me  when  I  sought  not  Him — to  call  me 
when  1  never  cried  for  help,,  never  complained, 
nay,  never  felt  my  calamitous  and  lost  condi- 
tion ?  This  can  be  none  but  Thou,  My  God, 
the  Father  of  mercies,  and  the  God  of  all  com- 
fort. No  bowels  less  enlarged  than  Thine 
could  shew  such  tender  pity  and  affection." 


232  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

His  one  aim,  in  all  his  labours,  was  to  "  win 
souls."  And  tlie  secret  of  his  deep  love  to 
them  was  the  heart-melting  experience  he  had 
had  of  the  tender  affection  of  the  Chief  Shep- 
herd. ''This,"  said  he,  one  day,  "is  that  care- 
ful Shepherd,  who,  when  His  sheep  wandered 
over  steep  hills  and  thorny  vales  and  desolate 
wildernesses,  sought  and  brought  it  back  with 
wondrous  skill  and  pains  ;  and,  when  it  was 
faint  and  just  expiring,  sustained  and  carried 
it,  tied  it  fast  to  Himself  by  the  straitest  bands 
of  love — lifted  it  out  of  the  pit  of  error  and 
confusion — and,  with  many  a  kind  and  tender 
embrace,  rejoiced  over  it,  and  fetched  the  poor, 
lost,  silly  creature  home  to  the  '  ninety  and 
nine '  which  lay  safe  in  His  own  fold." 

Cowper,  alluding  to  the  futile  efforts  of 
those  preachers  who  have  not  learned  to 
*' glory"  only  "in  the  Cross,"  writes — 

"Charm  the  deaf  serpent  wisely! 
Be  most  subHmely  good,  verbosely  grand, 
And  with  poetic  trappings  grace  thy  prose, 
Till  it  outmouth  all  the  pride  of  verse. 
Ah,  tinkling  cymbal,  and  high-sounding  brass, 
Smitten  in  vain  I     Such  music  cannot  charm 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  233 

The  eclipse  tliat  intercepts  truth's  heavenly  beam, 
And  chills  and  darkens  a  wide-wandering  soul." 

Augustine  had  learned,  in  his  own  daily  life, 
to  gaze  so  intently  on  Clirist,  and  on  Christ 
only,  that,  in  his  preaching,  all  other  themes 
dwindled  into  nothing.  "  I  have,  by  my  words, 
poured  out  before  Thee,"  he  wrote,  one  day 
indicating  the  way  in  which  he  seemed  to  feed 
every  moment  upon  Him,  "  sent  that  Word  in 
my  behalf  to  Thee,  as  my  glorious  intercessor, 
whom  Thou  didst  erst  send  down  from  heaven 
for  my  sins :  I  have  paid  down  the  price  of 
that  passion  wliich  Thy  own  Son  underwent 
for  the  release  of  that  debt  to  Thy  justice  which 
my  misdeeds  had  contracted.  I  believe  that 
Thy  Godhead,  sent  thus  into  the  world,  did 
take  upon  him  my  manhood ;  that  in  this  state 
He  vouclisafed  to  be  bound  and  buffeted — to 
be  derided  and  spit  upon — to  be  nailed  and 
pierced  and  crucified.  And  this  nature  of 
mine,  after  being  wrapt  up  in  swaddling  clothes 
and  moistened  with  infant  tears — after  the  toils 
of  youth,  the  mortifications  of  fastings  and 
watchings  and  long  journeys — after  being  fur- 

20^ 


234  MEMOIR  OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

rowed  with  scourgiiigs,  torn  upon  tlie  cross, 
numbered  among  the  dead,  and  at  last  honoured 
with  a  glorious  resurrection, — this  nature  of 
mine,  I  say,  Thy  Godhead  united  to  it,  I  most 
assuredly  believe,  hath  now  exalted  to  the  joys 
of  heaven,  and  seated  at  the  right  hand  of 
Thy  majesty  on  high.  Kemember,  then,  in 
much  mercy,  the  quality  of  Thy  Son,  and  the 
condition  of  Thj^  servant  redeemed  by  Him." 

Such  preaching  soon  began  to  tell.  Paul, 
alluding  to  his  own  ministry,  once  said — 
*^  Thanks  be  unto  God,  which  always  causeth 
us  to  triumph  in  Christ ; "  and,  on  the  same 
occasion,  he  added — "  We  are  unto  God  a 
sweet  savour  of  Christ."  Augustine,  also, 
found  that  God  was  with  him,  blessing  His 
own  Word.  He  expected  SMCcess]  and  success 
was  given — not  always  the  conversion  of  souls, 
but  always  such  a  power  in  the  Word  as  to  be 
"a  savour"  either  of  'Mife"  or  of  '^death." 

We  have  a  glimpse  into  that  Hippo-minis- 
try, in  a  conversation  which  occurred  one  day 
at  his  table. 

"  Did  you  take  notice  of  my  sermon  to-day 
in  the  church,"  said  he,  addressing,  in  liis  sim- 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  235 

pie  and  homely  way,  two  or  three  brethren  in 
the  ministry  who  were  dining  with  him,  "that 
its  beginning  and  end  were  not  according  to 
my  custom — that  I  did  not  finish  what  I  be- 
gan, but  left  my  subject  in  suspense  ?  " 

"We  answered,"  writes  one  who  was  pres- 
ent, "  that  we  were  at  the  time  astonished,  and 
now  recollected  it." 

"  I  believe  the  reason  was,"  said  Augustine, 
"that  the  Lord  perhaps  intended  some  errone- 
ous person  in  the  congregation,  through  my 
forgetfulness  and  mistake,  to  be  taught  and 
healed;  for  in  His  hand  are  we  and  our  dis- 
courses. While  I  was  handling  the  points  of 
the  question  proposed,  I  was  led  into  digression, 
and  so,  without  concluding  or  explaining  the 
subject  in  hand,  I  terminated  the  argument 
rather  against  Manicheism — on  which  I  had_ 
had  no  design  to  speak  a  word — than  concern- 
ing the  matter  proposed." 

"  Next  day,  or  two  days  after,"  says  the  same 
eye-witness,  "  came  a  merchant  called  Firmus, 
and,  while  Augustine  was  sitting  in  our  pres- 
ence, threw  himself  at  his  feet,  shedding  tears, 
and  entreating  his  and  our  prayers.     '  I  have 


236         MEMOIR  or  ST.  Augustine. 

lived.'  was  liis  confession,  'many years  a  Man- 
icliee,  and  have  vainl}^  spent  many  years  in  the 
support  of  that  sect ;  but,  through  Divine  mer- 
cy, I  have  been  convinced,  by  your  preaching, 
of  my  error ;  and  I  now  desire  to  be  restored 
to  the  Church.'  Augustine  and  we  enquired," 
proceeds  the  narrator,  "by  what  sermon  in  par- 
ticular he  had  been  convinced :  he  informed 
us :  and,  as  we  all  had  the  occasion  fresh  in 
our  recollection,  we  admired  and  were  aston- 
ished at  the  profound  counsel  of  Grod  for  the 
salvation  of  souls,  and  we  glorified  and  blessed 
His  holy  name,  who — when,  whence,  and  as 
He  pleases,  by  persons  knowing  and  unknow- 
ing— works  out  the  salvation  of  men.  From 
that  time,  the  man,  devoting  himself  to  God, 
gave  up  his  business,  and,  improving  in  piety, 
was  by  the  will  of  God  compelled,  against  his 
own  will,  in  another  region,  to  receive  the  office 
of  presbyter,  preserving  still  the  same  sanc- 
tity." 

Augustine  was  not  a  ritualist ;  still  less  was 
he  a  poor,  withered  "gospeller,"  content  with 
a  dull  routine  of  duty,  and  with  a  string  of 
high-sounding  phrases.     He  sought  souls  :  and, 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  237 

believing  that  the  Word — and  the  "Word  only 
— is  "  able  to  save  the  soul,"  he  preached  it, 
"in  season  and  out  of  season."  Over  that 
pulpit  in  Hippo,  if  ever  over  any,  might  have 
been  written — 

"From  afar, 
Conspicuous  as  the  brightness  of  a  star, 
Legible  only  by  the  light  they  give, 
Stand  the  soul-quickening  words— Believe,  and  Live." 


XXV. 

"  Pitch  thy  behaviour  low  ;  thy  projects  high  ; 
:X)  shalt  thou  humble  and  magnauimous  be." 

It  was  after  some  years  of  self-denying  labour 
in  Hippo,  that  tHe  lioly  Valerius,  feeling  the 
infirmities  of  advancing  years,  and  fearing  to 
lose  "so  great  a  treasure,"  conceived  the  design 
of  associating  the  devoted  presbyter  with  Lim- 
self  in  the  episcopate.  The  Church,  with  one 
voice,  seconded  the  invitation,  and  urged  him 
with  many  tears. 

At  Home,  and  elsewhere,  the  office  had 
begun  to  be  associated  with  so  much  of  lordly 
arrogance  and  of  priestly  pretension,  that  it 
seemed,  at  first,  as  if  he  should  never  be  able 
to  ascend  a  bishop's  "  throne."  But  the  saintly 
Valerius  had  walked  so  meekly,  and  had  gone 
in  and  out  among  his  brethren  so  unpre- 
[238] 


MEMOIR   OF  ST.    AUGUSTIXE.  239 

tcndinglj  and  so  lovingly,  that;  his  cliair  looked 
more  like  a  place  where  he  might  sit  on  a 
level  with  his  brother-pastors  than  a  tripod 
whence  to  announce  oracular  commands.  And 
so,  after  many  searchings  of  heart,  he  at  length 
accepted  the  charge;  and,  in  the  year  three 
hundred  and  ninety-five,  on  Valerius'  death, 
he  become  sole  bishop. 
A  poet  writes — 

"Where  the  meekness  of  self-knowledge  veileth  the  front 

of  self-respect, 
There  look  thou  for  the  man  whom  none  can  know  but 

they  will  honour: 
Humility  is   the  softening  shadow  before  the  statue  of 

Excellence, 
And  lieth  lowly  on  the  ground,  beloved  and  lovely  as  a 

violet." 

Such  was  Augustine  in  his  see.  Writing,  one 
day,  to  a  brother  in  the  ministry  he  said: — 
"Above  all  things,  I  desire  you  to  ponder, 
deeply  and  earnestly,  that  nothing  in  this  life, 
and  especially  at  this  time — if  the  thing  be 
gone  about  perfunctorily  and  in  a  spirit  of 
flesh-pleasing — is  more  easy  and  deliglitfal, 
and  to  men  more  acceptable,  than  the  function 


240  MEMOIR   OF   Sr.   AUGUSTINE. 

of  a  bisliop  or  presbyter  or  deacon, — but, 
before  God,  nothing  more  wretclied  and  de- 
plorable and  ruining:  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
believe  me,  nothing,  in  this  life  and  especially 
at  this  time,  if  the  service  be  rendered  after 
such  a  fashion  as  our  Captain  approves,  is  more 
difficult,  more  laborious,  more  perilous,  but 
before  God  more  blessed.  How  the  service  is 
to  be  rendered,  I  myself  had  no  instruction, 
either  in  boyhood  or  in  youth ;  and,  just  when 
I  had  begun  to  learn,  I,  who  did  not  know 
how  to  hold  the  oar,  was  constrained  by  a 
certain  holy  violence  to  assume  the  second  place 
in  the  ship, — my  only  claim  being  my  sins,  for 
any  other  I  could  not  even  guess." 

Preaching  was  still  his  ruling  passion ;  and 
most  striking  often  were  the  scenes  which  his 
earnest  zeal  occasioned. 

One  day,  he  entered  the  pulpit  of  Hippo 
with  a  heart  deeply  moved.  A  vicious  custom 
had  gradually  grown  up  in  the  town,  of  cel- 
ebrating solemn  days  by  riotous  feasts;  and  he 
had  come,  that  morning,  bent  on  an  earnest 
appeal,  and  after  not  a  little  prayer.  Opening 
the    Scriptures,    he    besought    them — by    the 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  241 

ignominy  of  Jesus,  by  His  sorrow,  by  His 
agony,  by  His  blood — not  to  destroy  them- 
selves, but  to  turn  and  live.  The  effect  was 
most  thrilling.  "I  did  not  make  them  weep," 
said  he,  narrating  the  scene  afterwards  to  his 
fiiend  Alypius,  "by  first  weeping  over  them; 
but,  while  I  was  preaching,  their  tears  pre- 
vented mine.  Then  I  own  I  could  not  restrain 
myself.  After  we  had  wept  together,  I  began 
to  entertain  great  hope  of  their  amendment.'' 
And,  turning  from  the  discourse  which  he  had 
prepared,  into  a  line  of  thought  suited  to  "  the 
present  softness  of  their  minds,"  he  urged,  so 
earnestly  and  so  affectionately,  an  immediate 
reformation,  that  from  tliat  very  day  the  habit 
was  discontinued. 

On  another  occasion,  he  was  on  a  visit  to 
Csesarea,  and,  ascending  the  pulpit,  was  en- 
deavouring to  persuade  the  people  to  abolish 
their  barbarous  sports,  in  which,  at  a  certain 
season  of  the  year,  they  fought  publicly  for 
several  days.  "I  said  what  I  could,"  he  wrote 
long  afterwards,  alluding  to  the  scene,"  "and 
they  shouted  applause;  but,  whilst  I  heard 
only  their  acclamations,  I  thought  I  had  done 
21 


242  MEMOIR    OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

notliing.  At  length,  however,  they  began  to 
weep,  and  then  I  liad  hope  that  the  horrible 
custom,  which  they  had  received  from  their 
ancestors,  would  be  abandoned.  It  is  now  up- 
wards of  eight  years  since  that  time,"  lie  adds, 
"and,  by  the  grace  of  God,  they  have  ever 
since  been  restrained  from  the  practice.'' 

It  is  said  of  Whitefield,  that  he  always  came 
down  from  the  throne  of  grace  with  the  tidings 
of  salvation, — like  the  angel  of  the  Apocalypse 
having  a  rainbow  round  his  head.  He  came 
not  to  entertain  or  entrance  or  electrify,  but  to 
transact  a  great  business  with  men  for  God; 
and  souls  bowed  before  his  heart-melting 
message,  like  willows  by  the  water-courses. 
The  good  bishop  had  the  same  estimate  of  his 
errand.  "  We  must  not  imagine,"  referring  to 
the  occasion  last  noted,  "that  a  man  has  spoken 
powerfully  when  lie  receives  much  applause. 
This  is  sometimes  given  to  merely  ornamental 
eloquence.  But  the  sublime  overwhelms  the 
mind  with  its  vehemence — it  strikes  them 
dumb — it  melts  them  into  tears." 

Like  the  Great  Preacher,  "the  common 
people  heard  him  gladly." 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  243 

"His  excellence,"  says  the  historian,  ''lay  in 
exhibiting  that  which  was  useful  to  the  vulgar, 
not  that  which  was  entertaining  to  the  learned. 
The  matter,  rather  than  the  manner,  was  his 
chief  concern.  An  elaborate,  highly  fiiiished, 
elegant  style — then,  as  now,  affected  by  so 
many  as  the  perfection  of  pulpit- oratory — he 
eschewed  as  that '  wisdom  of  words'  which  ren- 
dered the  cross  of  Christ  of  none  effect.  De- 
spising the  fastidiousness  of  cold  critics,  and 
intent  on  the  one  business  of  bringing  souls  to 
Christ  and  of  feeding  the  sheep  already  folded, 
he  was  plain,  downright,  warm,  affectionate, 
himself  content  to  be  nothing,  if  only  Christ 
might  be  lifted  up." 

Baxter,  after  his  pithy  fashion,  describes 
preachers  who  "cut  the  throats  of  their  ser- 
mons" by  their  worldly,  carnal  life.  Augus- 
tine's life  was  "a  living  epistle  of  Christ,"  as 
distinct  and  legible  as  his  words, — "the  purity 
of  his  mind  (as  Herbert  has  it)  breakir.g  out 
and  diluting  itself  even  to  his  body,  clothes, 
and  habitation." 

Nothing  could  be  simpler  or  more  beautiful 
than  his  daily  domestic  habits.     Choosing  to 


244  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

remain  single,  thougli  not  blaming  marriage 
in  others,  lie  liad  drawn  around  him  a  goodly 
little  fellowship,  Avho,  beneath  his  hospita^ble 
rcof,  prosecuted  their  studies  for  the  ministry, 
and  who  saw  in  their  master  a  pattern  of 
*'  moderation"  and  unworldliness  more  impres- 
sive than  all  teachings.  "All  things  were 
common,"  Possidius  tells  us,  "no  one  had  more 
than  another, — even  he  himself  never  being 
preferred.""^  ^[icroscopic  and  unfriendly  ej^es 
may  detect  in  this  a  tinge  of  that  asceticism 
which  elsewhere  was  substituting  for  the  warm, 
genial,  homelike  Christianity  of  the  Gospel,  a 
drear}^,  isolated,  and  isolating  monachism.    But 

*  Possidius,  referring  to  his  diet,  furniture,  and  other 
household  arrangements,  adds :  —  "  Testes  ejus  et  calceamenta 
vel  lectnalia  ex  moderate  et  competente  habitu  erant,  nee 
nitida  nimium,  nee  abjecta  plurimum :  quia  his  pleruraque 
vel  jactaro  se  insolenter  homines  solent,  vel  abjicere ;  ex 
utroque  non  qua3  Jesu  Christi  sed  quae  sua  sunt  iidem  qua3- 
rentes :  at  iste,  ut  dixi,  medium  tenebat,  neque  in  dexteram, 
neque  in  sinistram  declinans."' 

And,  again,  he  writes :  — '  Mensa  usus  est  frugali  et  parca, 
quaj  quidem  inter  olera  et  legumina,  etiam  carnes  aliquando 
propter  hospites,  vel  quosque  intirmiores,  semper  autem  vinum 
habebat.  Quid  noverat,  et  docebat,  ut  apostolus  dicit,  quod 
omnes  creaturte  Dei  bomr  sit,  et  nihil  abjiciendum  quod  cum 
gratiarum  actiono  percipitur, — sauctiiicatur  enim  per  verbum 
Dei  et  oratiouem." 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  245 

Augustine  was  not  a  monk ;  his  soul  was 
liglited  with  too  heavenlj^  a  sunshine  for  that. 

"  Let  the  misanthrope  shun  men  and  abjure,— the 
most  are  rather  loveable  than  hateful ; 
A  man  may  travel  through  the  world,  and  sow  it 
thick  with  friendships." 

The  bishop's  home  was  a  bright  and  happy 
spot ;  and  not  the  least  attraction  was  the  ray 
which  fell  on  it  from  heaven. 

If  ever  conversation  was  "with  grace  sea- 
soned with  salt,"  it  was  his.  A  single  incident 
will  illustrate  it. 

On  his  table  he  had  a  distich  written,  warn- 
ing all  his  guests  against  slandering  an  absent 
brother : — 

"  Quisquis  amat  dictis  absentum  rodere  vitam, 
Hauc  mensara  vetitam  noverit  esse  sibi." 

And  the  rule  was  not  a  dead  letter.  One  day, 
we  are  told,  certain  bishops,  his  intimate  friends, 
were  with  him,  and  the  conversation  took  this 
turn.  For  a  while,  the  good  man  sat  silent, 
evidently  much  discomposed,  until,  at  last, 
pointing  to  the  lines,  he  mildly  but  firmly  inti- 
mated, that  either  they  must  be  erased,  or  he 
21^* 


246  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

must  himself  rise  from  the  midst  of  the  meal 
and  retire  to  his  bed-chamber.* 

Deep  was  the  well-spring  of  love  whicli  had 
been  formed  in  that  once  rocky  heart  by  the 
stroke  of  the  Divine  rod.  "Thoa  who  repair- 
est  our  breaches,"  he  wrote  in  his  diary,  one 
day,  recording  the  Divine  healing  of  his  own 
spirit,  "  and  buildest  up  our  decayed  ruins  with 
a  word  of  Thy  mouth — Thou  who  hast  sown 
in  Thy  field,  my  heart,  the  good  seed, — i-oot 
out  the  weeds  and  thorns  of  vicious  disposi- 
tions and  habits,  Avhich  else  will  choke  the 
work  and  make  it  unfruitful.  O  sweetest, 
kindest,  dearest  Jesus !  pour  into  me,  I  beg 
Thee,  the  abundance  of  Thy  love,  that  there 
may  be  no  remains  of  earthly  or  sensual  desires 
or  thoughts  in  my  breast,  but  that  Thou  and 
Thy  love  may  reign  unrivalled  there,  and  pos- 
sess my  heart  entirely." 

*  Possidius,  alluding  to  this,  says : — "  Ideo  omnem  con- 
vivam  a  superfluis  et  noxiis  fabulis  et  detractionibus  sese 
abstiuere  de])ere  admonebat.  jS^am  et  quosdam  suos  famili- 
arissiraos  coepiseopos  illius  Scripture  oblitos,  et  contra  earn 
loquentes,  tarn  aspere  aliquando  reprchendit  commotus  ut 
diceret,  aut  delendos  esse  illos  do  nionsi  versus,  aut  se  mediii 
refectione  ad  suum  cubiculum  surrecturum.  Quod  ego,"  he 
adds,  "  et  alii,  qui  illi  mensie  interfuimus,  cxperti  sumus." 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  247 

And  this  it  was  whicli  made  him  so  tender 
and  considerate  towards  his  fellows.  Often  he 
would  spend  a  whole  day — sometimes  several 
successive  days — in  reconciling  parties  who 
were  at  variance.  Knowing  by  experience  the 
heart's  deceitful n ess,  and  knowing  also  the 
graciousness  of  the  Divine  Healer,  he  knew 
how  to  touch  other  hearts  with  the  healing 
balm.  To  him  many  a  torn  bosom  and  many 
a  troubled  home  owed  the  return  of  sunshine 
after  a  dark  storm. 

Himself  "  one  of  God's  poor,"*  he  loved  and 
cared  for  the  poor.f     "  Man,"  it  has  been  said, 

"Is  God's  ima(>o;  but  a  poor  man  is 
Christ's  stamp  to  boot :  both  imag-es  regard. 
God  reckons  for  him— counts  the  favour  His. 
Write  '  So  much  giv'n  to  God.'     Thou  slialt  be  heard. 
Let  thy  alms  go  before,  and  keep  lieaven's  gate 
Open  for  thee;  or  both  may  come  too  kite." 

Augustine,  at  the  close  of  his  sermon,  one  day, 
observing  the  smallness  of  the  offerings,  said — 
"  I  am  a  beggar  for  beggars,  and  take  pleasure 

*  "  Pauper  Dei"  he  used  to  call  himself 
t  Possidius   says  — "Compauperum    vero   semper   memor 
eral." 


248  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

in  being  so,  in  order  tliat  yon  may  be  num- 
bered among  the  children  of  God."  At  times, 
rather  than  leave  unrelieved  cases  of  extreme 
suffering,  he  not  only  parted  with  all  bis  own 
means  but  even  "  melted  down  the  silver  vessels 
of  the  Church." 


XXVI. 

"  His  refuted  quirks  bo  still  repeats  ; 
New  raised  objections  with  new  quibbles  meets  ; 
Till,  sinking  in  the  quicksand  he  defends, 
He  dies  disputing,  and  the  contest  ends — 
But  not  the  mischiefs;  they,  still  loft  behind, 
Like  thistle-seeds,  are  sown  by  every  wind." 

Augustine  was  not  a  lover  of  controversy. 
His  mild  and  gentle  spirit  would  rather  have 
dwelt  with  the  meek  dove  than  with  the  petrel 
Avhich  revels  in  the  storm.  But  truth  was 
dearer  to  him  than  ease  or  self-pleasing ;  and 
so  daring  or  so  specious  were  the  efforts  of 
various  heresiarchs  in  tliose  days  to  erase  from 
the  Church's  living  creed  some  of  the  most 
precious  doctrines  of  grace,  that,  on  more  than 
one  occasion,  his  whole  soul  was  "  stirred  in 
him,"  as  for  the  very  ark  of  God. 

By  profession  a  monk,  and  of  blameless  life, 
Pelagius  had  traversed  various  countries  of 

[249] 


250  MEMOIE   OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

Europe,  insinuating,  in  the  most  artful  way, 
liis  heretical  notions  respecting  grace.  "I  arn 
mucli  grieved  for  Pelagius  the  monk,"  a  contem- 
porary wrote;  "consider  what  crowns  must 
be  reserved  for  those  who  stand  firm,  when 
men  who  have  lived  in  so  much  mortification 
and  continency  appear  to  be  so  carried  away." 
His  views  he  would  deliver,  with  a  great  ap- 
pearance of  modesty,  in  the  form  of  queries 
suggested  by  others;  whilst,  to  a  select  few 
whose  affections  he  had  ensnared,  he  would 
impart  his  real  opinions. 

One  leading  position  was,  the  denial  of  hu- 
man depravity.  "  The  sin  of  Adam,"  he  said, 
"  hurt  himself  alone,  and  not  mankind."  And 
again  : — "  Infants  are  born  in  the  same  state 
as  Adam  was  before  the  fall."  Grace  he  held 
to  be,  not  an  inward  renewal  of  the  will  by  the 
almighty  operation  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  but  an 
outward  revelation  simply — the  example  of 
Christ  Jesus.  Adam  and  Christ  introduced — 
the  one,  sin — the  other,  righteousness — into 
the  world,  in  no  other  sense  than  by  example. 
The  fixll  of  man,  and  his  need  of  a  new  birth, 
were  dismissed  as  "  ^^ious  imaginations."     The 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  251 

virtues  of  Abel,  Enoch,  ^lelchizedek,  Abra- 
ham, Isaac,  Jacob,  Job,  and  the  like,  were  the 
product  of  their  natural  powers,  and  proved 
"  how  great  was  the  goodness  of  nature." 

Man,  he  affirmed,  could  not  practise  good- 
ness spontaneously,  were  it  not  equally  in  his 
power  to  do  evil.  "  The  goodness  of  nature 
was  so  apparent  that  it  shewed  itself  even 
among  Gentiles.  How  many  virtuous  philos- 
ophers had  we  read  and  heard  of !  Whence 
their  goodness,  were  not  nature  good  ?" 

The  heresiarch,  early  in  the  fifth  century, 
after  propagating  his  sentiments  in  Italy,  fled 
into  Africa,  on  the  sack  of  Kome  by  the  Goths. 
And  his  mischievous  zeal  in  that  region  at  last 
stirred  into  activity  the  earnest  watchman  at 
Hippo. 

The  !Nranicheans  had  attempted  to  explain 
the  great  variety  of  luiman  character  by  the 
idea  of  a  physical  difference  in  souls ;  some 
being  the  creation  of  "the  evil  spirit,"  and 
therefore  naturally  and  essentially  evil,  and 
hopelessly  enthralled  by  him, — whilst  others 
derived  froni  "  the  good  spirit  "  so  large  a  part 
of  their  nature  as  to  find  no  difficulty  in  main^ 


252  MEMO! a    OF   ST.    AUOrSTIXE. 

taining  their  integrity.  About  the  end  of  the 
third  century,  Origen  had  opposed  to  this  the- 
ory the  dogma — acquired  in  the  Platonic  school 
of  Alexandria — that  all  souls  are  created  by 
the  one  omnipotent  God,  and  are  endowed  by 
Him  with  the  power  of  choosing  either  good 
or  evil,  the  free  will  of  each,  not  any  malign 
independent  being,  determining  his  precise  line 
of  action.  In  the  course  of  the  fourth  cen- 
tury, Origen's  writings  had  spread  far  and  wide 
throughout  Europe,  rendering  no  small  service 
in  counteracting  the  poison  of  Manicheism. 
Among  others,  Pelagius  had  deeply  studied 
them,  drinking  in  their  subtle  teachings.  The 
result  was,  that,  in  his  zeal  to  maintain  that  no 
souls  were  the  handiwork  of  the  evil  s})irit,  he 
lost  sight  of  the  fact  of  the  corruption  of  our 
nature, — laying  down  as  the  basis  of  his  own 
system  the  doctrine  that,  notwithstanding  the 
fall,  we  are  able,  by  our  own  inlierent  powers 
and  without  Divine  aid,  to  do  God's  will. 

Augustine,  himself  rejoicing  in  his  emanci- 
pation from  the  Manichean  delusion,  might 
liavc  been  expected  to  lean  towards  the  same 
extreme;  but  his  inner  conflicts  had  been  too 


MKMOTR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  253 

real  to  leave  him  in  any  doubt  about  bis  own 
depravity  and  corruption.  And,  to  prepare  him 
for  defending  this  fundamental  position,  He 
who  knows  the  end  from  the  beginning  had 
been  carrying  him  through  these  long  years  of 
trial  and  of  triumph. 

In  an  after-age,  Luther  contended  for  the 
grace  and  the  glory  of  God  against  human 
merit,  in  the  matter  of  the  sinner's  pardon  ;  in 
that  ao^e,  Augustine  contended  for  the  same 
Divine  grace  and  glory  in  the  turning  of  the 
sinner's  heai't.  The  heresies  of  all  ages  have 
been  little  else  than  a  new  name  or  dress  for 
the  denial  of  these  two  great  cardinal  articles 
of  alivinof  soul  and  of  a  livins;  Church. 

At  first,  that  he  might  "  more  easily  profit 
him,"  Augustine  did  not  name  Pelagius,  ex- 
posing only  his  mischievous  tenets.  Such  was 
his  personal  prepossession  for  him,  that  he 
continued  to  hope  against  hope,  not  believing 
that  one  so  eminently  virtuous  could  be  found 
guilty  of  so  grave  a  heresy.  At  length,  how- 
ever, he  took  the  field  against  him  openly  and 
avowedly.  "Pelagius  alone,"  he  wrote,  "is 
not  now  our  object;  but  many  souls  are  in 
22 


254  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

danger  of  being  beguiled.  Let  him  be  asked 
what  he  means  precisely  by  the  term  '  grace ; ' 
and,  if  he  be  found  to  speak  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  the  Church  of  Christ,  let  us  rejoice  in 
him.  For,  whether  he  calls  grace  '  free-will,' 
or  '  remission  of  sins,'  or  the  '  precept  of  the 
law,'  he  explains  not  that  grace  of  the  Holy 
spirit,  which  conquers  lusts  and  temptations, 
and  which  He  who  ascended  into  heaven  has 
poured  on  us  abundantly.  The  grace  which 
Christian  doctrine  teaches,  is  not  nature,  but 
nature  saved,  and  not  by  external  doctrine, 
but  by  the  supply  of  the  Spirit  and  secret 
mercy.  For,  though  natural  gifts  may  be 
called  grace,  yet  that  grace  by  which  we  are 
predestinated,  called,  justified,  glorified,  is 
quite  a  different  thing.  It  is  of  this  the  apos- 
tle speaks  w^hen  he  says,  '  If  by  grace,  then  it 
is  no  more  of  Avorks.  And  to  him  that  work- 
eth  not,  but  believeth  on  Him  wlio  justifieth 
the  ungodly,  his  faith  is  counted  for  righteous- 
ness.' For,  if  Christ  had  not  died  for  our 
sins,  Pelagius'  possibility  of  natun^,  winch  he 
makes  to  be  grace,  would  have  been  just  the 
same. 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  255 

The  heresiarch  was  summoned  before  a 
council  of  fourteen  bishops  in  Palestine.  In 
his  plausible  way,  he  spoke  much  of  "  Divine 
grace,"  confessing  its  necessity ;  but  secretly 
he  believed  that  "  man  might  be  without  sin, 
and  easily  keep  the  commands  of  God  if  he 
would."  The  deception  lay  in  attaching  the 
term  "grace"  to  whatever  was  the  gift  of  God, 
so  that  "  a  man  who,  by  the  use  of  his  natural 
powers,  in  conjunction  with  the  aid  of  the  re- 
vealed will  of  God,  should  expect  to  please 
God,  might  be  said  to  be  saved  by  grace." 
The  council  was  cnjoled,  and  ended  by  de- 
claring him  a  "Christian  brother." 

But  Augustine  was  not  to  be  so  cajoled. 
"  Without  doubt,"  he  wrote  to  a  member  of 
the  council,  "the  grace  by  which  we  are  saved, 
is  not  that  with  whicli  we  are  created.  For,  if 
those  bishops  who  acquitted  him,  had  under- 
stood that  he  called  that  grace  which  we  have 
in  common  with  the  wicked,  and  that  he  de- 
nied that  which  we  have  as  Christians  and  as 
sons  of  God,  he  would  not  have  been  borne 
with.  I  blame  not,  then,  his  judges,  who  un- 
derstood   the   word    ^  grace '   in    its   common 


256  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

meaning."  "  But,"  he  proceeded,  vindicating 
a  truth  which  to  him  was  not  a  mere  theologi- 
cal dogma,  but  a  felt  fact  of  bis  own  conscious- 
ness, "  this  man  imagines  that  he  must  believe 
God  to  be  an  acceptor  of  persons,  if  he  believe 
that,  without  any  preceding  merits,  God  pities 
whom  he  wills,  and  calls  and  sanctifies  whom 
He  pleases.  He  forgets  that  to  the  condemned 
his  punishment  is  a  thing  justly  due,  and  to 
the  saved  soul  the  deliverance  is  mere  un- 
merited grace,  so  that  neither  can  the  one 
complain  of  having  not  deserved  the  condem- 
nation, nor  the  other  boast  as  if  he  had  had 
any  claim." 

With  the  tenderness  of  a  true  shepherd,  we 
fmd  liim  appealing  to  one  whom  Pelagius  had 
been  labouring  to  pervert,  thus: — "In  every- 
thing give  thanks.  Ye  do  so,  because  ye  have 
it  not  of  yourselves.  For  who  hath  distin- 
guished you  from  Adam,  the  mass  of  death 
and  perdition  ?  Was  it  not  He  who  came  to 
seek  and  to  save  the  lost?  AYhen  the  apostle 
says,  '  Who  made  thee  to  differ  ?  '  does  he  an- 
swer, 'My  good  will,  my  faith,  my  righteous- 
ness?'   does  he   not   say,    'What   hast   thou 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    ACGUSTINE.  257 

whicli  tliou  liast  not  received?'  We  hope, 
considering  the  humility  in  which  Demetiias 
was  educated,  that,  when  she  read  Pelagius' 
words — if  she  have  read  them — she  sighed, 
smote  her  breast,  and  perhaps  Avcpt,  and 
prayed,  that,  as  these  were  not  her  words,  so 
neither  might  they  be  her  creed, — that  she 
might  glory,  not  in  herself,  but  in  the  Lord. 
If  you  narrowly  observe, "  he  continued, 
"  though  the  writer  speaks  of  grace,  he  does 
it  with  guarded  ambiguity ; — it  may  mean  na- 
ture, or  doctrine,  or  forgiveness  of  sins,  or  the 
example  of  Christ.  But  find,  if  you  can,  one 
word  which  owns  a  positive  work  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  on  the  mind,  actually  imparting  the 
power  of  loving  God.  Gladly  would  I  see 
such  a  confession  in  some  much  admired 
writers  ;  but  as  yet  I  have  not  discovered  it." 

One  day,  some  friends  were  conversing  on 
the  subject,  and  he  said  : — "  The  great  sin  of 
Pelagianism  is,  that  it  makes  a  man  forget  why 
be  is  a  Christian." 

Another  day,  an  inquirer  was  puzzled  to 
know  how  a  man  could  be  responsible  for 
wrong-doing,  if  he  had  not  the  power  of  doing 
22^ 


258  MEMOIR  OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

good.  *'  If  I  do  wrong,"  said  the  visitor,  *'  am 
not  I  just  to  pray  that  God  would  give  me 
what  He  has  withheld?  It  is  not  ni}^  own 
fault  that  I  am  debarred  from  the  power  of 
doing  good ;  therefore  how  can  I  be  blamed?" 
''ISTaj,"  replied  Augustine,  "thy  own  con- 
science condemns  thee  when  thou  sinnest.  This 
evil  heart  of  thine  is  itself  sin."  And,  turning 
his  thoughts  into  another  channel,  he  added : 
— "  O  man,  in  the  precept,  know  what  thou 
oughtest  to  possess  ;  in  rebuke,  know  thou  art 
without  it,  through  thy  own  fault ;  in  prayer, 
know  whence  thou  mayest  receive  what  thou 
desirest." 

On  another  occasion,  as  he  sat  alone,  he  re- 
corded his  secret  feeling,  thus : — "  0  Lord, 
who  hast  formed  and  sustained  me  from  my 
mother's  womb,  suffer  me  not,  I  implore  Thee, 
to  fall  Tinder  that  condemnation,  of  attempting 
to  steal  away  any  part  of  Thy  glory.  Thine  is 
all  the  good ;  and  fit  it  is,  that  thine  should  be 
all  the  honour  of  it.  I  most  humbly  confess 
my  spiritual  poverty,  that  I  have  nothing  of  my 
own.  I  do  look  upon  myself  to  be  no  better 
than  vanity,  a  mass  of  corruption,  a  dark  and 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  259 

empty  creature,  a  barren  soil,  not  able,  with- 
out the  fructifying  dew  of  Thy  blessing,  to 
bring  forth  any  fruit  but  the  venomous  and 
noisome  weeds  of  sham^e  and  sin  and  death. 
If  I  have  au}^  good  disposition,  it  is  of  Thy  in- 
fusing ;  if  I  have  persevered  in  doing  well,  it 
is  because  Thy  strength  enabled  me  ;  if  I  fell 
off  from  a  good  course,  it  was  because  Thy 
grace  did  not  preserve  me:  and  in  each  of 
those  relapses  I  had  lain  and  been  lost  for 
ever,  had  not  Thy  mighty  hand  raised  me  oilt 
of  the  dust  of  death." 

And,  one  evening,  his  meditation  took  an- 
other turn,  thus: — "Infinite,  God  knows,  are 
our  hazards ;  and  all  our  wi\y  is  spread  so 
thick  with  traps  and  toils,  that  we  cannot  tread 
one  step  where  there  is  not  some  net  laid  for 
our  souls.  And  whose  wisdom  and  care  are 
sufficient  to  escape  them  all?  Snares  in  our 
plenty,  and  snares  in  our  poverty;  snares  in 
our  company,  and  snares  in  our  most  private 
retirements ;  snares  in  our  pleasures  and  the 
ordinary  refreshments  of  life,  and  snares  in  our 
very  fastings  and  most  mortifying  austerities. 
Abroad  or  at  home,  asleep  or  awake,  we  are 


260  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

never  safe ;  but  every  word  and  action,  every 
thought  and  design,  is  hazardous  and  ensnar- 
ino".  Such  is  our  condition,  and  so  manifold 
our  danger.  But  do  Thou,  Lord,  deliver  us 
from  the  toils  of  the  hunter,  that  we  may  give 
thanks  unto  Thy  name,  saying  with  the  holy 
Psalmist — '  If  the  Lord  Himself  had  not  been 
on  our  side,  our  enemies  had  swallowed  us  up 
quick  ;  but  praised  be  the  Lord,  who  hath  not 
given  us  over  for  a  prey  unto  their  teeth.' " 

It  was  thus  that  his  humble  and  reverend 
spirit  lay  continually  in  the  dust, — "  trembling, 
yet  happy  ;  confident,  yet  meek."  And  such 
a  spirit  shrank  with  intensest  sensitiveness 
from  whatever  Avould  lift  itself  against  the 
Lord."^     Like   the   believers  of    Ephesus,   he 


*  In  an  ''  Historical  Skotcli" '  of  Augustine  hy  Tliilip 
Schaft',  D.  D.,  the  author  speaks  of  the  Reformers  as  '-folloAV- 
ing  him,  at  least  in  the  beginning,  even  to  the  dizzy  abyss  of 
the  doctrine  of  Predestination,  which  Luther,  Melancthon. 
and  still  more  Calvin,  pushed  into  the  terrible  logical  conse- 
quences of  Supralapsarianism."  Dr.  Schaff  must  surely 
know  that  Augustine's  views  on  man's  utter  and  hopeless 
depravity,  and  on  God's  free  and  sovereign  grace  are  identi- 
cal with  Luther's  and  Calvin's.  The  writings  of  neither  con- 
tain any  language  stronger  than  that  which  we  have  quoted 
from  Augustine.     Apart  from  technical  phrases,  such  as  Su- 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  261 

"could  not  bear  them  wbich  were  evil;  "  and, 
living  in  an  age  when  a  proud  and  vain  spirit 
was  eating  out  the  Church's  life,  he  had  scarce- 
ly laid  down  his  weapon  against  one  opposer, 
when  another  demanded  its  unsheathing. 

In  those  years,  there  arose  in  Africa  a  sect 
which  pecaliarly  vexed  his  meek  spirit. 

One  night,  on  his  way  home  from  a  pastoral 
visitation,  his  guide,  mistaking  the  road,  led 
him  by  a  different  route  from  that  which  he 
had  intended  to  take ;  and  he  thus  escaped  a 
plot  which  had  been  laid  for  his  life.  The 
assassins  were  a  body  of  heretics,  called  Cir- 
CLuncelliones,  who  were  filled  with  such  hatred 
of  all  the  pastors  of  the  Church  that  they 
"again  and  again,"  "waylaid  them,  attacked 
them  with  an  armed  force,  and  mutilated  and 
even  killed  them." 

pralapsariauism  and  Sublapsarianisni,  does  not  the  whole 
matter  resolve  itself  into  this— Is  God  a  being  so  imperfect  as 
to  have  recourse  to  unexpected  and  unanticipated  after- 
thoughts? or,  are  all  His  works  known  to  Him  and  ordain- 
ed by  Him  from  the  beginning?"  '•  But,"  it  is  asked,  "may 
not  God  foreknow,  and  then  ordain?"  Nothing,  we  answer, 
can  be  known  but  what  is  certain  and  fixed ;  and,  if  certain 
and  fixed,  whence  the  certainty.  Is  it  not  from  God's 
eternal  purpose? 


262  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

A  dispute  had  arisen,  a  century  previous, 
whether  a  particular  bishop  had  been  legally 
ordained;  and  so  fierce  had  the  strife  grown, 
that  the  schismatic  body  refused  to  recognise 
the  general  Church  as  within  the  pale  of  Chris- 
tian fellowship.  Broken  up  into  parties,  the 
Donatists  found  themselves  identified  with 
certain  furious  maniacs — "  a  mere  banditti  (as 
Augustine  described  them),  sons  of  violence 
and  bloodshed,  who  valued  neither  their  own 
lives  nor  those  of  their  neighbours,  and  who 
not  unfrequently  in  a  fit  of  phrenzy  would 
commit  suicide."  These  latter  were  the  Cir- 
cumcelliones. 

AVhat  was  to  be  done  ?  Augustine  addressed 
the  Emperor.  *'  Such  as  are  peaceable,"  said 
he,  "must  be  reasoned  with:  compulsory  con- 
versions are  not  genuine,  and  tend  only  to 
harden  men  in  sin;  therefore  I  recommend 
preaching  and  arguments."  But  the  savage 
and  lawless  Circumcellioncs  could  be  restrained 
only  by  the  civil  sword.  Pains  and  penalties 
were  employed, — though  not  with  the  exact 
discrimination  which  Augustine  had  advised. 
The  result  was — the  schism  almost  dwindled 


MEMOIR  OF  ST.   AUGUSTIXE.  263 

away,  many  even  of  the  most  nntractable 
confessing  their  error  and  with  much  humility 
and  joy  returning  to  the  Church's  fold. 

Augustine,  by  these  events,  was  betrayed, 
in  his  subsequent  writings,  into  an  approval 
of  harsh  measures  for  the  eradication  of  error, 
such  as  his  meek  spirit,  left  to  its  own  feelings, 
would  have  loathed.  But  even  the  "failing 
leaned  to  virtue's  side."  It  was  that  zeal  for 
the  Lord  which  had  before  suggested  to  John 
the  calling  down  of  the  fire.  Even  the  Re- 
formers of  Germany  and  of  England  made  the 
same  grand  mistake.  The  idea  of  toleration 
belongs  peculiarly  to  our  own  age. 


XXVII. 

"  If  still  the  sun  should  hide  his  face, 
Tliy  house  would  but  a  dungeon  prove  ; 
Tliy  works,  night's  captives.     Oh  !  let  grace 
Drop  from  above." 

Bacon  remarks,  that  "  there  is  a  superstition 
in  avoiding  superstition,  when  men  think  to 
GO  best  if  they  go  forthcst  from  the  superstition 
foi-merly  received.  Therefore,"  he  adds,  "care 
should  be  had  that  (as  it  fareth  in  ill  purgings) 
the  good  be  not  taken  away  with  the  bad." 

The  Church,  in  Augustine's  time,  bad  "left 
its  first  love;"  and,  with  a  spiritual  declension, 
there  had  come  a  grievous  departure  from  the 
outwaixl  simplicity  of  early  days.  Carnal 
splendour  and  priestly  pride  were  overspread- 
ing, like  some  vast  upas-tree,  the  fair  face  of 
apostolic  Christianity  ;  sacraments  were  taking 

[264] 


MEMOIR   OF    ST.    AUGrSTIXE.  265 

the  place  of  the  word ;  and  a  nascent  ecclesias- 
ticism  was  supplanting  Christ. 

Augustine  had  found  in  Christ  his  personal 
Saviour ;  and,  in  all  the  power  of  a  living  faith, 
he  was  lifting  up  his  voice  like  a  trumpet,  and 
proclaiming  the  heaven-sent  message.  But 
this  very  engrossment  with  the  grand  central 
reality  made  him  content  to  retain  not  a  little 
of  the  death-clothes  which  encumbered  the 
risen  man. 

This  explains  certain  expressions  which  fell 
from  him,  exalting  unduly  the  pabtismal 
sacrament.  To  use  such  expressions  in  a 
"  sacramentarian"  sense  is  a  fraud.  They  are 
no  more  a  part  of  the  real  man,  than  the  cere- 
ments of  death  which  Lazarus  brought  with 
him  from  his  grave  were  a  part  of  his  living 
self. 

At  the  risk  of  repetition,  we  reiterate  this 
position.  Any  biographer  who  overlooks  it, 
at  once  misapprehends  the  man,  and  dishonours 
that  Lord  who  made  him  what  he*  was.  ' '  Many 
weeds,"  it  has  been  said, 

"  Run  rank  in  pride,  if  men  have  dubbed  them  cedars." 

23 


266  MEMOIR  OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

The  preacher  of  Hippo,  if  he  were  with  us  at 
this  hour,  would  disown  all  brotherhood  or 
sympathy  with  any  save  the  earnest,  soul- 
seeking  minister  who  glories  in  exalting  Christ. 

Let  th€  man  himself  speak. 

Writing,  one  day,  to  a  brother  who  seemed 
to  be  yielding  himself  to  the  prevailing  ten- 
dency to  ritualism,  he  says : — "It  grieves  me 
that  so  many  salutary  precepts  of  Scripture 
should  be  held  cheap,  whilst  our  religion  abounds 
with  commandments  of  men.  All  those  cus- 
toms which  do  not  carry  in  their  appearance 
an  evident  reason  for  their  existence,  I  am  free 
to  say,  ought  to  be  laid  aside.  Admit,  it 
cannot  be  proved  that  they  are  contrary  to  the 
faith,  yet  they  burden  with  servile  usages  that 
religion  which  God,  in  His  mercy,  intended  to 
make  free.  In  this  respect,  the  condition  of 
the  Jews  is  more  tolerable;  they  are  subject^ 
indeed, — but  to  Divine  ordinances,  not  to  the 
precepts  of  men.  However  the  Church,  sur- 
rounded as  she  is  with  chaff  and  tares,  endures 
many  things,  yet  she  cannot  tolerate  what  is 
contrary  to  faith  and  practice.  " 

On  another  occasion,  he  wrote: — "No  bap- 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  267 

tized  person  can  be  saved  in  his  sins.  With- 
out holiness,  none  can  possibly  enter  heaven." 

And,  again  : — ''  I  starve  in  the  midst  of 
plenty,  and  am  but  mocked  with  the  empty 
pomp  of  a  feast, — when  my  soul  feeds  on  any- 
thing else  but  Thee  ;  for  Thou  alone  canst  sat- 
isfy my  hunger,  assuage  my  pains,  and  fill  my 
large  desires." 

The  older  he  grew,  the  deeper  was  his  attach- 
ment to  the  doctrines  of  grace. 

A  holy  man  once  wrote — 

'•  If  thou  sbalt  let  this  venom  lurk, 
And  in  suggestions  fume  and  work, 
My  soul  will  turn  to  bubbles  straight, 
And  thence  by  kind, 
Vanish  into  a  wind 
Making  Thy  workmanship  deceit." 

Augustine  also,  day  by  day,  realized  more 
intensely  the  heart's  desperate  deceitfulness. 
"The  house,  I  confess,  is  strait,"  was  his  se- 
cret breathing,  one  evening.;  "do  Thou  en- 
largo  it !  ruinous,  but  do  Thou  repair  it  I 
full  of  pollutions,  which  might  be  a  nuisance 
to  eyes  so  pure — I  know  and  with  grief  con- 
fess  it ;  but   whose  help   shall   I   implore  in 


268  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

cleansing  it,  except  thine  alone.  To  Tlice, 
therefore,  I  cr)-  instantly,  begging  that  Thou 
wilt  'purge  me  from  my  secret  faults,'  and  es- 
pecially 'keep  Thy  servant  from  presumptu- 
ous sins,  that  they  never  get  the  dominion 
over  me.'  "  And,  another  day : — "  Enable  me, 
sweet  Jesus,  I  beseech  Thee,  to  lay  aside  every 
weight.  Let  mj  body  be  in  constant  subjec- 
tion to  my  soul^  my  senses  to  reason,  and  my 
reason  to  Thy  grace,  that  so  both  the  outward 
and  the  inward  man  may  be  ever  obedient  and 
disposed  to  do  thy  will.  Fill  my  heart,  my 
mouth,  and  all  my  bones,  with  Thy  praise. 
Enlighten  my  understanding,  and  exalt  my 
affections,  that  I  may  soar  upwards  to  Thee  ; 
and  set  me  free  from  those  fetters  which  fasten 
me  down  and  are  an  encumbrance  to  me,  that 
I  ma}^  leave  all  here  below,  and  serve  and  fix 
and  dwell  upon  Thee  alone  ! " 

A  great  divine,  on  his  death-bed,  said  : — "  I 
have  been  a  poor  wretched  sinner ;  but  I  stand 
at  the  best  pass  that  ever  a  man  did — Christ 
is  mine,  and  I  am  His."  And,  as  a  friend 
came  in  and  asked — "  What  think  you  now  of 
Christ  ?  "   he  replied,  with   a   heavenly  glow 


MEMOIli  OF  ST.  augusti:n"e.  269 

on  his  countenance — "  My  Lord  and  Master 
is  the  Chief  often  thousand  of  thousands  ;  none 
is  comparable  to  Him  in  heaven  or  in  earth." 
And,  some  others  joining  him,  he  added : — 
"  Dear  brethren,  do  all  for  Him  !  pray,  for 
Christ;  preach,  for  Christ;  feed  the  flock  com- 
mitted to  your  charge,  for  Christ;  do  all,  for 
Christ !  "  In  like  manner,  Augustine  was  led 
by  his  deep  necessity  into  a  keener  sense  of 
Christ's  glorious  fullness.  "If  Christ,  he 
would  say,  *'  is  really  the  foundation,  our  love 
to  Him  must  outweigh  all  other  interests,  and 
the  soul  must  be  ready  to  sacrifice  everything 
to  Him.  Pour  Thj'self  into  my  heart ;  and 
let  it  overflow  and  be  so  entirely  filled  with 
Thy  pleasures,  that  there  may  be  no  room  left 
for  the  trifling  vanities  here  below  !  Help  me 
against  the  insinuations  of  such,  and  be  Thou 
the  joy  of  my  heart!  take  it  all  to  Thyself, 
and  keep  thy  continual  residence  there." 

On  another  occasion,  his  massive  theology  took 
shape  thus: — "The  contrast  betwixt  the  two 
Adams  becomes  more  and  more  the  central 
point  of  my  faith.  In  the  one,  we  are  guilty 
and  corrupt  and  undone ;  in  the  other,  we  are 
23- 


270  MEMOIR  OF  ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

accepted  and  renewed  and  exalted.  'In  Adam 
we  all  die' — all  tlie  first  Adam's  race;  'in 
Christ  we  all  are  made  alive' — all  wlio  are 
united  to  him  by  a  living,  life-giving  faith." 

Another  characteristic  of  these  years  was, 
his  deepening  relish  for  the  Word.  "Won- 
drous depths  of  Thy  Word !  "  he  exclaimed, 
one  day,  from  the  pulpit ;  "  whose  surface,  be- 
hold, is  before  us,  inviting  us  little  ones;  yet 
are  they  a  wondrous  depth,  0  my  God,  a  won- 
drous depth  !  It  is  awful  to  look  therein  ;  an 
awfulness  of  horror,  and  a  trembling  of  love."''^ 

*  Neander  says  of  Augustine  and  of  his  times: — '-To 
this  period  was  transmitted  from  tlie  primitive  Christian  da^-s 
the  riglit,  closely  connected  with  the  consciousness  of  the 
universal  Christian  priesthood,  and  belonging  to  all  Christians, 
of  instructing  and  edifying  themselves  by  going  direct  to  the 
fountain  of  the  Divine  Word.  Hence  manuscripts  of  the 
Bible  were  multiplied  and  exposed  for  sale.  It  was  regarded 
as  the  chief  part  of  a  pious  Christian  education,  both  in  men 
and  in  women,  to  become  early  familiar  with  the  Holy  Scrip, 
tures." 

And  the  Dean  of  Westminster,  to  the  same  purport,  writes '- 
— "  Perhaps  in  no  Christian  writer  of  any  age  do  we  count 
more,  or  more  varied,  expressions  of  a  rapturous  delight  in 
the  Word  of  God  ;  no  one  laid  himself  down  in  its  green 
pastures  with  a  deeper  and  a  fuller  joy  ;  no  one  more  en- 
tirely felt  that  he  might  evermore  draw  water  from  these 
*  wells  of  salvation'  without  fear  of  drawing  them  dry." 


MEMOIR   OF   ST,   AUGUSTINE.  271 

Anotlier  day,  comparing  the  earnest  believer 
to  an  "ant,"  he  described  bim  as  "  treasuring 
up  from  the  Divine  Word  that  which  he  might 
have  occasion  to  use  in  the  time  of  need." 
"  Do  not  allow  yourselves,"  said  he,  "  to  be  so 
immersed  in  present  earthly  things  as  to  be 
obliged  to  say,  '  I  have  no  time  to  read  or  to 
hear  God's  Word."  And  again: — ''What 
food  is  for  the  body,  such  are  the  IIolj^  Scrip- 
tures for  the  soul — tlie  source  of  substantial 
strength. 

K  Augustine  were  among  us,  what  a  withering 
frown  he  would  cast  on  those  blinded  guides 
who  would  heal  wounded  consciences  by  send- 
ing them  to  the  priest's  "confessional,"  instead 
of  declaring  to  them  the  simple  Word!  "Go," 
said  he,  one  day,  to  his  people,  "  and  tell  your 
difficulties  to  some  Christian  neighbour  or 
friend ;  and,  if  the  passage  be  too  hard  fur 
them,  pray  for  light  from  above."  ^  It  was 
not  uncommon,  at  the  close  of  a  sermon  such 
as  Augustine  would  preacli,  for  one  after  an- 
other to  retire  into  a  side-chamber  where  the 

*  "Ad  ipsum  Dominum  pulsa  orando,  pete,  insta.'' 


272  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

Scriptures  lay  open  for  the  people;  and  to 
read  or  listen  therefor  hours,  "thirsting  for 
tiie  word  of  God." 

Yinet  once  remarked — "A  man  in  reason,  a 
child  in  heart, — such  must  the  Christian  be." 
Such  was  now  the  great  Church-doctor,  and 
growingij  as  he  hastened  heavenward.  "I 
am  a  little  child,"  he  said,  one  day  ;  "but  my 
Father  always  lives,  and  is  my  sufficient  guar- 
dian. My  hope  is  this,  that  Thou  art  faithful 
— that  Thou  dost  not  suffer  us  to  be  tempted 
above  that  we  are  able,  but  with  the  tempta- 
tion also  makest  a  way  to  escape,  that  we  may 
be  able  to  bear  it.  Lord,  not  with  doubting, 
but  with  assured  confidence,  do  I  love  Thee ; 
Thou  hast  smitten  my  heart  with  Thy  Word, 
and  I  have  loved  Thee." 

Augustine  was  not  a  stoic ;  he  was  too  hu- 
man, too  real,  to  affect  not  to  feel  the  sharp 
edge  of  the  Father's  pruDing-knife.  But  ho 
saw  it  in  the  Fatherly  hand ;  and  that  made 
all  well.  "Is  not  the  life  of  man  upon  earth," 
he  said,  on  one  occasion,  "  all  trial  ?  Who 
wishes  for  troubles  and  difficulties?  Thou 
commandest  them  to  be  endured,  not  to  be 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  273 

loved.  No  man  loves  what  lie  endures,  though 
he  love  to  endure.  For,  though  he  rejoices 
that  he  endures,  he  had  rather  there  were  noth- 
ing for  him  to  endure.  All  my  hope  is  nowhere 
but  in  Thy  exceeding  great  mercy.  Give 
what  thou  enjoinest,  and  enjoin  what  Thou 
wilt.  Too  little  doth  he  love  Thee,  who  loves 
anything  with  Thee,  which  he  loveth  not  for 
Thee.  O  Love,  who  ever  learnest  and  never 
consumest !     O  Charity,  my  God !  kindle  me !" 


Vr. 


XXVIII. 

**  Give  me  simplicity,  that  I  may  live  ; 

So  live,  and  like,  that  I  may  know  Thy  ways, 
Know  them  and  practise  them.     Then  shall  I  give, 
For  this  poor  wreath,  to  Thee  a  crown,  of  praise." 

As  years  rolled  on,  his  gentle  but  brave  spirit 
was  tossed  by  buffeting  waves. 

One  was,  the  continued  hardness  of  sundry 
members  of  his  flock.  "  I  do  not  wish,"  was 
his  appeal  to  them  one  day  from  the  pulpit, 
"  to  be  saved  without  3^ou,  why  should  I  ? 
why  am  I  your  bishop  ?  why  am  I  in  the 
world?  Only,  to  live  in  Christ, — but  ivitli 
youP  On  these  occasions,  the  great  tear  not 
seldom  trembled  in  his  dimmed  eye. 

The   bitterness  of  this  trial,  only   a  heart 

touched  with  a  like  compassion  for  souls  can 

know.     His  one  business  in  life  still  seemed 

to  be,  to  win  souls.     Oftentimes,  five  days  in 

[274] 


MEMOIR    OF   ST.    AUGTSTIXE.  275 

succession — on  some  days  twice — he  preached 
to '' perishing  sinners."  "Human  language," 
says  a  contemporary,  Avho  heard  him,  "  seemed 
insufficient  to  express,  in  a  fit  and  lively  man- 
ner, the  thoughts  and  feelings  which,  with  the 
speed  of  lightning,  streamed  through  his  soul. 

He  set  before  him,  as  the  aim  of  his  spiritual 
oratory,  to  preach  himself  and  his  hearers  into 
Christ,  so  that  all  might  live  with  him,  and 
he,  with  all,  in  Christ.  This  was  his  passion, 
his  honour,  his  boast,  his  joy,  his  riches."* 

Now,  more  than  ever,  he  felt  intensely  that 
the  secret  of  all  pulpit-powder  was  prayer. 
"Let  the  preacher,"  said  he,  one  day,  "who 
would  be  understood  and  be  heard  with  pleas- 
ure, pray  before  he  speak.  Let  him  lift  up 
his  thirst}^  soul  unto  God,  before  he  pronounce 
anything.  For,  since  there  are  many  things 
which  may  be  said,  and  many  modes  of  saying 
the  same  thing,  who  knows,  except  Him  who 

*  Possidius  says : — ''  Faciebat  hoc  tanquam  speculator  (i.e., 
watchman)  a  Domhio  constitutus  domui  Israel ;  pra^dicans 
verbum ;  atque  instans  opportune,  importune :  arguens,  hor- 
tans,  increpans,  in  omni  longanimitata,  et  doctrine  ;  praeci- 
pueque  operam  dans  instruere  eos  qui  esseut  idonei  et  alios 
docere." 


276  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

knows  the  hearts  of  all  men,  what  is  most 
expedient  to  be  said  at  the  present  hour  ?  and 
who  can  canse  ns  to  speak  what  we  ought,  and 
as  we  ought,  except  Him  in  whose  hands  we 
and  our  words  are?  And  bj  these  means  he 
may  learn  all  that  is  to  be  taught,  and  may 
acquire  a  faculty  of  speaking  as  becomes  a 
pastor." 

Another  deep  trial  visited  him.  The  Empire 
was  reeling,  under  the  shock  of  the  Gothic 
invasion;  and  its  calamities  were  attributed 
by  the  pagan  to  the  baleful  effects  of  Christi- 
anity. The  calumny  painfully  wounded  the 
bishop's  sensitive  heart;  and,  to  prove  its 
groundlessness,  he  set  himself,  in  his  sixtieth 
year,  to  prepare  his  great  work,  "  The  City 
of  God."  The  noble  "  apology"  cost  him 
the  leisure  hours  of  nearly  thirteen  years  ;  and 
right  valiantly  did  he  do  battle  in  it  for  the 
faith. 

"  The  seeds  of  the  Empire's  dissolution," 
said  he,  "  were  sown,  ages  ago,  in  the  growing 
dissoluteness  and  corruption.  And,  so  far  has 
Christianity  been  from  precipitating  the  crisis, 
that  the  invader  spared  every  Eoman  who  fled 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  277 

for  refuge  to  the  Cliristian  temples — the  onlj 
instance  known  where  the  lives  of  the  yan- 
quishecl  were  spared  on  acconnt  of  their 
religion." 

"  But  see,"  said  the  pagan,  "  how  many 
Christians  are  led  captive !" 

"Yes,"  replied  Augustine  ;  "but  they  can- 
not be  led  to  any  place  where  they  do  not  find 
their  God." 

In  the  town  of  Nola,  some  of  his  people  suf- 
fered from  the  barbarian  ravages.  Ko  sooner 
did  he  hear  of  their  distress,  than  he  sent  them 
relief,  even  reducing  himself  to  poverty  in 
sharing  their  afflictions. 

A  heavenly  fervour  seemed,  more  and  more, 
to  breathe  in  his  every  word  and  act.  "Suffer 
me  not.  Lord,"  was  his  holy  aspiration,  on  one 
occasion,  "  to  be  tormented  on  account  of  gold 
and  silver ;  for,  where  all  my  wealth  is.  Thou 
knowest."  And,  on  another  occasion,  he 
wrote: — "Our  great  things  are,  not  here,  but 
in  the  'city  of  God.'  The  world,  with  its 
glory  and  grandeur,  will  soon  perish ;  and  a 
symbol  of  this  is  Alaric's  devastation  of  the 
noble  Capitol.  But  the  'city  of  God'  is 
24 


278  MEMOIR   OF   Sr.   AUGUSTINE. 

founded  on  a  rock  and  the  day  is  at  hand  when 
her  holy  and  happy  citizens  shall  enter  into 
their  abiding  rest," 

Bacon  describes  riches  as  "the  baggage  of 
virtue."  "The  Eoman  word,"*  he  says,  "is 
better;  for,  as  the  baggage  is  to  an  army,  so 
is  riches  to  virtue — it  cannot  be  spared  or  left 
behind,  but  it  hindereth  the  march ;  yea,  and 
the  care  of  it  sometimes  loseth  or  disturbeth 
the  victory."  ISTever  was  combatant  more 
keenly  sensitive  to  this  "  weight"  than  Augus- 
tine. "  To  you,  who  are  God's  children,"  he 
would  say,  "I  appeal  for  whatever  I  need; 
for  I  prefer  living  by  your  free-will  offerings 
to  the  harassing  cares  of  wealth. "f  Again 
and  again,  he  declined  large  legacies  which 
Christian  friends  had  bequeathed  to  him.:!:    He 

^"  "  Impedimenta." 

t  On  this  point,  Possidius  writes: — "  Alloquebatur  plebem 
Dei.  malle  se  ex  collationibus  magis  plebis  Dei  viverc,  quani 
illarum  possessionum  curam  vel  gubernationem  pati ;  et  pa- 
ratuni  so  esse  illis  cedere  ut  eo  niodo  omues  Dei  servi  et 
ministri  viverent,  quo  in  vetere  Testamento  leguntur  altari 
deservientes  de  eodem  comparticipari.  Sod,"  he  adds,  ••  nun- 
quam  id  laici  suscipere  voluerunt." 

:j;  Possidius  says,  again  : — "  Ahquas  eum  hu?rcditates  re- 
moasso  novimus  non  quia  pauperibus  inutiles  esse  possent. 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  279 

"looked  for  a  city  wliicli  liatli  foundations;" 
and  he  would  suffer  no  one  to  "make  his 
glorying  void." 

Amidst  all  his  labours  as  a  writer,  he  never 
for  a  moment  lost  sight  of  the  flock.     "  In  ser- 
mons,"  says   Herbert,    "there   is    a   kind   of 
state;  in   catechising   there   is   a  humbleness 
very  suitable  to  the  Christian  regeneration." 
Like  a  true  pastor,  Augustine  was  constantly 
face  to  face  with  his  people.     Counselling,  one 
day,  a  youthful  minister,  he  said  : — "You  are 
engaged  in  some  agreeable  study,  and  are  told 
that  you  must  proceed  to  catechise.     You  are 
vexed  that  the  course  of  your  work  is  inter- 
rupted ;  and,  from  the  agitation  of  your  mind, 
you  are  unfitted  to  discharge  the  work  itself. 
The  teacher,  therefore,  must  himself  learn  those 
things  which  may  exliilarate  his  own  mind ; 
for  God  loveth  a  cheerful  giver.     To  this  end, 
place   before   you   the   meek   and    charitable 
example  of  the  Son  of  God,  to  shame  you  out 
of  your  pride  and  impatience ;    that,  if  indeed 

sed  quoniam  justum  et  acquum  esse  videbat,  ut  a  mortuorum 
vel  filiis  vel  pareutibus  vel  affinibus  magis  possiderentur, 
quibus  ea  deficientes  dimittere  noluerunt." 


280  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

you  have  any  more  useful  study  to  prosecute 
concerning  yourself,  you  may  tlien  expect 
that  God  will  speak  to  you  in  it  more  power- 
fully, when  you  have  undertaken  cheerfully 
to  speak  for  him  as  well  as  you  could  to  others. 
We  are  poor  judges  of  the  best  order  of  things ; 
and,  when  we  consider  how  much  better  it  is 
to  leave  the  direction  of  times  and  seasons  with 
the  all -wise  God,  we  shall  not  take  it  amiss 
that  the  providential  calls  to  work  disturbed 
the  order  which  we  had  prescribed  to  ourselves, 
and  that  His  will  took  place  before  ours." 

There  is  a  way  of  doing  ministerial  work 
which  hardens  alike  "priest"  and  "people." 
A  man  may  be  busy — very  busy,  and  yet  be  a 
mere  machine — a  spiritual  automaton.  Even 
Christ's  true  minister  is  caught  oftentimes  in  this 
snare.  "  The  name  of  Christ,"  as  some  one 
says,  "  may  be  affixed  to  a  work,  and  the  work 
be  His  no  longer."  Augustine  was  keenly 
alive  to  the  peril ;  and  he  was  in  the  secret  of 
the  only  safeguard.  "The  tediousness,"  said 
he  to  the  same  youthful  minister,  "of  that  trite 
and  plain  road  of  catechising  should  be  smooth- 
ed by  Divine  love  in  the  heart." 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  281 

How  anxiously  tie  still  fanned  the  flame  of 
that  "  divine  love"  in  his  own  heart,  we  gather 
from  glimpses  into  his  inner  breathings,  which 
are  ever  and  anon  presenting  themselves.  "  To 
Thee,"  we  have  him  whispering,  one  day,  for 
example,  "  0  joy  and  desire  of  my  heart,  I  cry 
aloud  and  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  I 
call  within,  because  I  know  Thee  there  ;  for, 
wert  not  Thou  in  me,  I  should  not  be  at  all ; 
and,  were  not  I  in  Thee,  Thou  wouldest  not  be 
in  me."  And,  again  : — "  I  am  wounded  with 
the  darts  of  Thy  love,  and  burn  with  eager  de- 
sire of  seeing  and  being  inseparably  united  to 
Him  whom  my  soul  longeth  to  enjoy.  How 
sweet,  0  gracious  Lord,  who  in  wonderful 
kindness  hast  so  love<l,  and  saved,  and  enliv- 
ened, and  sanctified,  and  exalted  us,  how  in- 
expressibly sweet  are  the  thoughts  and  the  re- 
membrance of  Thee !" 

And,  another  day,  thus : — "  This  is  my 
hope,  and  the  joy  of  my  confidence.  He  loves 
His  own  flesh,  His  own  body,  and  His  own 
bowels.  That  flesh  of  ours,  in  which  He  rose 
from  the  dead  and  ascended  into  heaven  and 
now  does  sit  in  heavenly  places,  cannot  but 
24* 


282  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

love  us,  because  this  is  in  effect  but  to  love 
itself :  We  have  tbe  privilege  of  our  own  blood 
flowing  in  His  veins  :  We  are  His  body,  and 
His  substance.  He  is  our  Head,  from  whence 
the  members  are  derived,  to  which  they  are  in- 
separably united.  O  marvellous  mystery  !  O 
inexplicable  conjunction  I  0  mercy  most  ador- 
able ;  ever  to  be  admired,  ever  to  be  loved !" 

To  have  fellowship  now  with  Christ  in  His 
acceptance  before  God  in  heaven,  is  to  have 
fellowship  with  Him  also  in  His  rejection  by 
man  on  earth.  Day  by  day,  Augustine  found 
this  truth  more  intensely  real.  "  Where  there 
is  rejoicing  in  the  world,''  he  remarked  on  one 
occasion,  ''  there  is  no  rejoicing  in  the  Lord  : 
where  there  is  rejoicing  in  the  Lord,  there  is 
no  rejoicing  in  the  world.  Let  rejoicing  in 
the  Lord  prevail,  till  the  rejoicing  in  the  world 
be  ended.  Let  the  rejoicing  in  the  Lord  be 
always  on  the  increase;  the  rejoicing  in  the 
world  always  lessening,  till  it  come  to  an  end." 
And  he  added  : — "  This  is  not  said  as  though, 
when  we  are  in  the  world,  we  ought  not  to  re- 
joice, but  that,  when  we  are  even  in  the  world, 
we  may  rejoice  already  in  the  Lord." 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  283 

The  happy,  heavenly  tone  of  his  soul  during 
these  years,  when  he  devoted  so  many  hours 
to  his  great  work,  "The  City  of  God,"  is  indi- 
cated by  such  breathings  as  the  following : — 
"  0  heavenly  Jerusalem !  our  common  mother  ! 
Thou  beautiful  spouse  of  Christ !  my  soul  hath 
loved  thee  exceedingly ;  and  all  my  faculties 
are  ravished  with  thy  charms.  O  what  graces, 
what  glory,  what  noble  state,  appear  in  every 
part  of  thee !  IMost  exquisite  is  thy  form ;  and 
thou  alone  art  beauty  without  blemish.  Ee- 
joice  and  dance  for  joy,  0  daughter  of  my 
King;  for  thy  Lord  Himself,  fairer  than  all 
the  sons  of  men,  hath  '  pleasure  in  thy 
beauty.' " 

And,  another  day  : — "  Thy  light  and  glory, 
and  all  thy  happiness  is  the  incessant  contem- 
plation of  the  Divine  King  ;  for  this  King  of 
kings  is  in  the  midst  of  thee,  and  all  His  host 
are  ministering  round  about  Him  continually. 
There  are  the  melodious  choirs  of  angels ; 
there  the  sweet  fellowship  and  company  of  the 
heavenly  inhabitants ;  there  the  joyful  pomp 
of  all  those  triumphant  souls  who,  from  their 
sore  trials  and  travels  through  this  valley  of 


284  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTIXE. 

tears,  at  last  return  victorious  to  their  native 
country ;  there  the  goodly  fellowship  of  proph- 
ets, whose  eyes  God  opened  to  take  a  pros- 
pect of  far-distant  mysteries ;  there  the  twelve 
leaders  of  the  Christian  armies,  the  blessed  apos- 
tles; there  the  noble  army  of  martyrs;  there 
the  convention  of  confessors ;  there  the  holy 
men  and  women  who,  in  the  days  of  their  lies]}, 
were  mortified  to  the  pleasures  of  sin  and  of 
the  world  ;  there  the  virgins  and  youths  whose 
blooming  virtues  put  out  early  fruit;  there 
the  sheep  and  lambs  who  have  escaped  the 
ravening  wolf  and  all  the  snares  laid  for  their 
destruction." 

And,  again  : — "  These  now  all  rejoice  in 
their  proper  mansions ;  and,  though  each  differ 
from  other  in  degrees  of  glory,  yet  all  agree  in 
bliss  and  joy,  diffused  to  all  in  common ;  and 
the  happiness  of  every  one  is  esteemed  each 
man's  own,  for  there  charity  reigns  in  its  ut- 
most peifcction,  because 'God  is  all  in  all, 
whom  they  continually  behold,  and,  behold- 
ing, continually  admire,  and  praise  and  love, 
and  love  and  praise,  without  intermission, 
without  end,  without  weariness  or  distraction 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  285 

of  thouglit.  This  is  their  constant,  their  de- 
lightful employment.  And  oh!  how  happy 
shall  I  be,  how  exquisitely,  how  incessantly 
happy,  myself  to  bear  a  part  with  them — to 
behold  his  face  in  glory,  and  to  be  made  par- 
taker of  that  whereof  He  hath  given  me  the 
comfortable  hope  when  saying  to  His  Father, 
'  I  will  that  they  whom  Thou  hast  given  me  be 
with  me  where  I  am,  that  they  may  behold 
my  glory.'  " 

The  veteran  preacher  was  feeling  more  and 
more  vividly,  each  year,  the  blessing  of  wait- 
ing, in  his  ministry,  simply  and  expectingly 
upon  God.  "  At  the  hour  of  speaking  itself," 
he  remarked,  on  one  occasion,  "a  faithful 
spirit  will  think  his  Lord's  words  adapted  to 
his  circumstances — 'Think  not  what  or  how 
ye  shall  speak  ;  for  it  is  not  ye  that  speak,  but 
the  Spirit  of  your  Father  which  speaketh  in 
you.'  If  the  Holy  Spirit  speak  in  those  who 
are  delivered  ujd  to  persecutors  for  Christ,  why 
not  also  in  those  who  deliver  Christ  to  learn- 
ers?" 

It  is  a  maxim  of  George  Herbert's — 

"  Usefulness  conies  by  labour.'' 


286  MEMOIK    OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE. 

Augustine  was  not  a  fanatic,  despising  or  neg- 
lecting diligent  study.  "  If  any  say,"  he  ad- 
ded, on  tlie  occasion  just  noted,  "  that  men 
need  to  know  no  rules  nor  follow  any  studies,  it 
might  be  said  also  that  men  need  not  to  pray 
because  our  Lord  saith,  '  Your  Father  know- 
eth  what  ye  have  need  of  before  ye  ask  Him  :' 
and  at  this  rate  the  rules  of  St.  Paul  to  Timo- 
thy and  Titus  might  be  superseded.  Prayer 
and  study  should  go  hand  in  hand ;  and  the 
two  Epistles  to  Timothy,  and  that  to  Titus,  are 
of  standing  authority  in  the  Church,  and  ought 
to  be  deeply  meditated  upon  by  every  one 
who  undertakes  the  of&ces  of  a  teacher." 

A  holy,  mellowed  light,  falling  on  his  chas- 
tened soul,  seemed  to  tell  that  he  was  nearing 
the  rest  above.  One  day,  gently  solacing  a 
tried  believer,  he  said: — "The  will  of  God  is 
sometimes  that  thou  shouldest  be  whole,  some- 
times that  thou  shouldest  be  sick.  If,  when 
thou  art  whole,  God's  will  be  sweet,  and,  when 
thou  art  sick,  God's  will  be  bitter, — thou  art 
not  of  a  right  heart.  Wherefore?  Because 
thou  wilt  not  make  right  thy  will  according  to 
God's  will,  but  wilt  bend  God's  will  to  thine. 


MEMOIR   OF   QT.  AUGL'STINE.  287 

That  will  is  riglit,  but  thou  art  crooked :  thy 
will  must  be  made  right  to  that,  not  that  made 
crooked  to  thee ;  and  thou  wilt  have  a  right 
heart.  It  is  well  with  thee  in  this  world  ;  be 
God  blessed  who  comforteth  thee :  It  goeth 
hardly  with  thee  in  this  world ;  be  God  blessed 
because  He  chasteneth  thee." 

And,  on  another  occasion,  a  glimpse  of  the 
glory,  now  so  near  at  hand,  opened  upon  him, 
thus  : — "  0  happy  state  !  O  truly  glorious 
kingdom !  where  eternity  is  continued  through 
one  endless  day — one  ever-blooming  spring ! 
where  they  who  have  been  victorious  in  their 
spiritual  warfare,  join  in  concert  with  the 
blessed  angels,  and  sing  without  ceasing  the 
songs  of  Sion !  where  a  never-fading  crown 
adorns  every  head,  and  exquisite  jo}^  overjflows 
every  heart !  O  when  will  it  please  God  to 
give  me  leave  to  lay  down  this  load  and  lum- 
ber of  flesh,  and  to  admit  me  without  spot  or 
corruption  into  the  true  rest,  the  transporting 
delight,  of  that  blissful  place, — that  I  may 
walk  about  the  beauteous  walls  of  the  city  of 
God  —  view  all  her  palaces,  and  receive  a 
crown   at   the  hand  of  my   merciful  Judge? 


288  MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTI^'E. 

When  shall  I  make  one  in  that  holy  choir,  and 
behold  the  majestic  presence  of  my  Maker 
with  'the  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect?' 
When  shall  I  see  my  dear  redeemer  face  to 
face  ?  " 

These  were  no  mere  devout  rhapsodies — no 
unchastened  utterances  of  a  soul  which  had 
not  learned  to  lie  down  in  the  dust,  and  to 
stand  in  awe  before  the  Holy  One.  They  were 
the  calm,  quiet  longings  of  a  loving  child,  who 
— counting  it  no  presumption  to  feel,  even 
here,  at  home  in  his  Father's  house — yearned 
as  became  him, 

•*  To  tread  the  golden  streets  above,  and 
'oin  the  glorious  throng." 


XXIX. 

"  storms  and   tempests,  darkly  warring, 
Bid  mc  sock  a  better  home  ; 
Earth  is  with  her  joys  receding, 
Angel-voiccs  whisper — '  Come  !'  " 

The  great  Church-fatlier  was  about  to  pass 
from  the  scene  of  strife  and  of  labour  to  tlie 
joy  of  his  Lord;  and  stormy  indeed  was  the 
passage  by  which  he  was  to  reach  his  quiet 
haven. 

It  was  in  the  early  summer  of  the  year  four 
hundred  and  twenty -eight,  that  a  formidable 
host  of  some  fift}^  thousand  barbarians  crossed 
the  sea  from  Spain,  Landing  on  the  coast  of 
Africa  with  Genseric,  the  Vandal  chief,  at  their 
head,  they  ravaged  cities  and  villages,  "  sparing 
no  age  or  sex,  and  raging  more  fiercely  than 
wild  beasts  of  prey."  The  Roman  general  met 
the  invader  in  a  pitched  battle,  but  was  driven 
25  [289] 


290  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

into  tlie  fortified  town  of  Hippo.     This  was  liis 
last  stronghold. 

The  venerable  bishop  trembled  for  his 
beloved  flock.  The  Yandals  wei-e  Arians; 
and,  with  a  wild  ferocity,  they  were  hunting 
down  all  who  were  zealous  for  the  true  fiiith. 
It  was  a  critical  occasion ;  but  Augustine  was 
not  daunted.  "  Whoever  flees,"  were  his  manly 
words  to  a  brother-shepherd,  "so  that  the 
Church  is  not  deprived  of  the  necessary  minis- 
trations, he  does  wdiat  God  commands  or 
permits.  But  whoever  so  flees  that  the  flock 
of  Christ  is  left  without  the  nourishment  by 
which  it  spiritually  lives,  he  is  an  hireling,  who, 
seeing  the  wolf  come,  flees  because  he  has  no 
care  for  the  sheep." 

The  city  w^as  "  straitly  besieged ;"  and,  week 
after  week,  the  faithful  watchman  occupied  his 
watch-tower,  feeling  (as  he  said)  that  "the 
bonds,  which  the  love  of  Christ  had  knit, 
should  not  be  rent  asunder." 

One  evening,  as  he  sat  alone  in  his  chamber 
after  the  labours  of  the  day,  he  poured  forth 
his  breathings  thus : — "  See,  my  God,  and  King, 
see  the  good  vShepherd  bringing  to  Thee  the 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGL^STIKE.  291 

sheep  committed  to  His  charge.  Tie  undertook 
to  save  men  by  Thy  appointment;  and  He 
hath  performed  the  nndertakiug,  so  as  to  restore 
to  Thee  pure  and  spotless  Thy  once  polluted 
creatures.  He  brings  in  safety  back  that  prey 
which  the  wolf  and  robber  had  carried  off  by 
violence.  He  brings  into  Thy  presence  that 
servant  whom  his  own  guilty  conscience  had 
put  upon  fleeing  from  Thy  sight,  that  so  the 
punishment  due  to  his  deserts  might  be  remit- 
ted through  his  Lord's  satisfaction,  and  the 
offender,  who  had  nothing  to  look  for  but  to  be 
banished  for  ever  into  hell,  might,  under  the 
protection  of  this  glorious  Conqueror,  be  assured 
of  admittance  into  His  heavenly  country."  It 
was  thus  that  the  fountain  of  his  deep  com- 
passion for  souls  never  grew  dry ; — the  "  nether 
springs"  in  his  heart  were  kept  in  direct  com- 
munication with  the  "upper  springs"  in  the 
heart  of  God. 

It  is  told  of  John  Eliot,  "  the  apostle  to  the 
Indians,"  that,  on  his  deathbed,  he  was  found 
one  day  with  a  young  savage  at  his  side, 
teaching  him  his  letters ;  and,  on  being  asked 
why  he  did  not  now  take  rest,  he  replied,  "  I 


292  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

have  often  prayed  to  God  to  make  me  useful, 
and,  now  that  I  can  no  longer  preach,  He 
leaves  me  strength  enough  to  teach  this  poor 
child  his  alphabet."  Augustine  was  fired  with 
a  like  zeal.  "  He  preached  the  Word  of  God, 
in  the  church,"  says  Possidius,  "even  to  his 
very  last  illness,  without  intei-mission,  full  of 
vigour,  sound  in  understanding,  and  in  all  the 
power  of  his  best  days."* 

"  A  thousand  hearts  kindled  by  thee  with  consecrated 
fire! 

They  Uve  but  in  thy  words ; 

Thou  art  expanded  into  them—one  faith,  one  hope, 
one  spirit ; 

They  breathe  but  in  thy  breath ,  their  minds  are  pas- 
sive unto  thine. 

Thou  turnest  the  key  of  their  love,  bending  their  affec- 
tions to  thy  purpose ; 

And  all,  in  sympathy  with  thee,  tremble  with  tumultu- 
ous  emotions." 

A  great  Eeformer  used  to  sa}^,  with  tears  in 

his   eyes,  that,   before   he   set   out   upon   the 

:  heavenly  road,  the  sun  was  already  past  noon. 

*  Possidius'  words  are : --"  Yerbum  Dei  usque  ad  ipsam 
suam  cxtremam  aegritudinem  impra^termisse,  alacritor,  et  for- 
titer,  san§,  mento  sanoque  consilio  in  ccclesia  prtodicavit." 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  293 

Augustioe  also  had  tlie  same  grief.     "  Too  late 
did   I   love   Thee,"   lie   would   say;*  "thou 
Beauty  of  ancient  days,  yet  ever  new !  too  Late 
I  loved  Thee.     I  searched  for  Thee  abroad, 
deformed  I,  plunging  midst  those  fair  forms 
which  Thou  hadst  made;  and,  all  the  while 
Thou  wert  with  me,  but  I  was  not  with  Thee. 
Things  held  me  far  from  Thee,  which,  unless 
they  were   in  Thee,  were   not   at   all.     Thou 
caliedst,  and  shoutedst,  and  burstedst  my  deaf- 
ness.    Thou  flashedst,  shonest,  and  scatteredst 
my  blindness.     Thou  breathedst  odours,  and  I 
drew  in  breath  and  did  pant  for  Thee.     Thou 
touchedst  me,  and  I  burned  for  Thy  peace." 

It  was  now  the  third  month  of  the  siege, 
wlien,  sitting  one  day  at  table,  surrounded  by 
the  little  circle  of  brethren  who  had  taken 
refuge  from  some  neighbouring  towns  under 
his  roof,  he  gave  utterance  to  his  emotions,  in 
a  kind  of  half-conscious  soliloquy,  thus:— 
"Happy,  beyond  imagination  happy,  is  that 
soul  which,  making  its  escape  out  of  this  earthly 
prison,  wings  its  wa'y  to  heaven  without  any 

*  St.  Paul  often  felt  this  pang.     "Who  also,"  says  he,  for 
example,  "  were  in  Christ  before  me." 

25* 


294  MEMOIR    OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

restraint — wliicli  sees  its  dearest  Lord  face  to 
face,  triumpliing  in  tlie  joys  of  everlasting 
glory ;  possessing  Thee,  the  object  of  its  love 
and  long  pursuit ;  and  singing  hymns  of  never- 
ceasing  praise  to  the  honour  of  her  King  and 
Redeemer ;  satiated  with  the  plenteousness  of 
Thy  house,  and  with  the  rivers  of  Thy  over- 
flowing pleasures !  0  happy  company  of  heav- 
enly citizens!  O  glorious  pomp  of  souls  re- 
turning from  their  toilsome  pilgrimage  to  the 
excellence  of  the  beauty  and  splendour  and 
majesty  of  Thy  courts  !" 

To  more  than  one  anxiously -observant  eye, 
that  evening,  the  words,  and,  still  more,  the 
unearthly  look  which  accompanied  them, 
seemed  as  if  already  he  were  treading  the 
vestibule  heaven. 

"Glorious  hopes,  ineffable  imaginings," 

marked  huu  out  for  a  speedy  departure  to  a 
region  of  brighter  vision. 

A  day  or  two  afterwards,  the  din  of  conflict 
grew  louder,  and  tidings  came  in  that  one  and 
another  of  his  beloved  flock  had  fallen.  It 
was  more,  almost,  than  his  gentle  spirit  could 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  295 

bear.  ''  What  I  ipTciv  to  God  for,"  lie  said, 
looking  out  upon  tlie  scene  of  carnage,  "  is, 
cither  that  He  will  deliver  the  city  from  the 
enemy,  or,  if  He  have  determined  otherwise, 
that  He  will  strengthen  His  servant  for  his  suf- 
ferings, or,  which  I  would  rather" — and,  in 
uttering  the  words,  a  sort  of  j)rophetic  glow 
came  over  him  as  if  the  wish  were  already 
more  than  half  accomplished — "  that  He  would 
call  me  out  of  this  world  unto  Himself" 

At  the  end  of  that  week,  he  was  seized  with 
"a  fever,"  which,  "  from  the  first,"  says  his 
friend,  "he  appeared  to  hail  as  the  messenger 
sent  to  call  him  home." 

If  ever  sick-chamber  was  lighted  with  a 
heavenly  glory,  it  was  the  humble  apartment 
where  the  illustrious  Church-father  noAv  lay 
down  to  die. 

"  What  love  of  Christ  can  that  be,"  he  would 
say,  in  other  years,  "  when  we  fear  to  go  to 
Him  whom  we  say  we  love?  O  brethren,  let 
us  be  ashamed  to  say  we  love,  while  we  arc 
afraid  to  go  to  Him."  And  now,  as  the  celes- 
tial city  with  its  bright  glories  rose  before  his 
eye,  he  was  "  quite  unable  "  (says  Posidius)  to 
restrain  within  him  the  ardent  longings  of  his 


296  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUG TS TINE. 

soul  to  meet  liis  Lord."  "  My  God,"  he  would 
say,  "  how  I  long  to  hear  that  transporting 
music,  and  those  Divine  songs,  which  publish 
the  mysteries  and  glories  of  the  blessed  Trinity! 
Mj  God,  how  honoured  to  be  so  soon  admitted, 
not  only  to  hear,  but  myself  to  join  in  concert 
with  the  sons  of  God  who  sing  to  their  Christ 
and  King  the  pleasant  songs  of  Sion." 

Another  liomeward-bonnd  pilgrim  has  writ- 
ten— 

'•  I  see,  by  faith,  my  holy  home  above, 
Jerusalem  ! 
Adorn'd  so  richly  by  my  Saviour's  love 

"With  pearl  and  gem. 

"  I  long  to  enter  the  eternal  gates, 

And  sin  no  more ; 
My  best  and  sweetest  praise  suspended  waits, 
For  that  glad  hour. 

"  Then  shall  my  harp  possess  no  broken  string, 
My  song  to  mar ; 
And,  in  the  everlasting  praise  I  bring, 
No  note  to  jar." 

AA^ith  an  eye  undimmcd  and  with  a  certain  Di- 
vine halo  on  his  calm  brow,  the  aged  saint  la}^, 
day  after  day,  surrounded  by  weeping  friends, 
and  his  heart  ali'eady  half  in  heaven.     "  0  the 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  297 

ravishing  entertainment,"  he  would  whisper, 
"of  those  harmonious  hymns,  the  melody  of  an- 
gels, and  the  sweet  notes  of  songs,  in  concert, 
sung  by  each  member  of  the  heavenly  choir ! 
No  mixture  of  bitter  pollutes  those  holy  joys, 
no  railing  or  revelling,  no  fear  or  disquiet,  no 
doubt  or  uneasiness  or  mutual  distrust ;  but 
perfect  peace  and  love,  eternal  praise  and 
thanksgiving,  unbroken  rest,  and  joy  everlast- 
ing in  the  Holy  Ghost. 

And,  another  day,  he  broke  forth  thus : — 
"  0  glorious  kingdom,  where  God  is  seen  face 
to  face — where  the  mind  is  feasted  and  fully 
satisfied  with  knowledge,  ever  seeing,  and  ever 
desiring  to  see  more,  but  desiring  without  un- 
easiness, and  satisfied  so  as  never  to  be  cloyed ! 
O  life  truly  \vorthy  of  the  name,  because  ever- 
lasting, ever  blessed !  A  life  of  joy  unj)ollut- 
ed  with  sufferings  or  sorrow,  where  the  Sun 
of  rightecjusness  sheds  upon  every  head  the 
refreshing  beams  of  Ilis  excellent  beauty,  and 
where  the  Light  is  so  diffused  that  every  tenant 
of  the  blissful  regions  shines  by  the  reflection: 
for,  being  constantly  united  to  the  Deity,  they 
are  transformed  into  the  likeness  of  the  Divine 


298  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUrxUSTINE. 

immortality  and  perfections,  thus  receiving  the 
full  effect  of  the  promise  of  their  holy  Lord, 
'  Father,  I  will  that  they  also  whom  Thou  hast 
given  me  be  with  me  where  I  am,  that  they  may 
behold  my  glory  which  Thou  hast  given  me,' 
and  '  all  may  be  one  in  us,  as  Thou,  Father, 
art  in  me,  and  T  in  Thee,  that  they  also  may 
be  one  in  us! '  " 

To  the  last,  he  watched  for  souls  with  the 
tenderest  solicitude.  Boniface,  the  Eoman 
general  conducting  the  defence  of  the  city, 
and  one  of  the  most  heroic  soldiers  of  the  day, 
had  long  shared  the  bishop's  friendship ;  and, 
tliough  many  an  earnest  colloquy  had  passed 
between  them  on  the  great  business  of  eter- 
nity, the  warrior  had  been  too  incessantly  daz- 
zled with  the  vision  of  human  glory  to  be  able 
to  fix  his  heart  on  God ;  and  Augustine  was 
leaving  him  with  the  afflicting  conviction  that 
his  prayers  and  his  pains  for  him  had  all  been  in 
vain.  Calling  him  to  his  bed-side,  and  desiring 
they  should  be  left  alone,  he  appealed  to  the 
commander  once  more,  "  endeavouring  to  draw 
him  from  the  love  of  the  world  to  God."  The 
two   friends   wept,  and   wept  agafn.      It   was 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  299 

Augustine's  last  effort  to  pluck  a  brand  from 
the  fire. 

Some  weeks  before  bis  departure,  Hewitson 
lay,  one  day,  recalling  the  sins  of  his  ministry 
and  bewailing  his  so  imperfect  labour  for  pre 
cious  souls.  "  Oh !  "  said  he,  "  I  am  naked, 
utterly  naked!  "  Often,  in  his  familiar  con 
versation,  Augustine  had  been  used  to  remark, 
that  "even  experienced  and  notable  Christians 
and  ministers  ought  not  to  quit  this  mortal 
scene  without  much  penitence  and  brokenness 
of  spirit."  *  And  now,  in  these  closing  days, 
a  most  characteristic  scene  presented  itself. 
"  He  had  the  seven  penitential  psalms,"  (his 
friend  informs  us)  written  on  the  wall  of  his 
chamber,  so  that  he  could  i"ead  them  from  his 
bed ;  and,  while  he  read  them,  the  tears  coursed 
down   his   cheeks.f      For  hours  together,  he 

*  Our  authority  is  his  friend  Possidius,  who  says : — "  Di' 
cere,autem,  nobis  inter  famiHaria  colloquia  consueverat,  etiam 
laudatos  Christianos,  et  sacerdotes,  absque  digua  et  compe- 
teni  poenitentia  exire  de  corpore  non  debere." 

f  Possidius'  words  are: — "Sibi  jusserat  Psahuos  Davidicos 
qui  sunt  paucissimi  de  poenitentia,  scribi,  ipsosque  quaterni- 
ones  jacens  in  lecto  contra  parietem  positos  diebus  suae  in- 
lirmitatis  intuebatur,  et  legebat.  et  jugiterao  ubertim  flebat." 
And  he  adds:  -"  Et  ne  intentio  ejus  a  quoquam  impediretur, 
ante  dies  ferme  decern  quam  exiret  de  corpore,  a  nobis  postu- 


300  MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

was  left  alone,  giving  tlie  whole  time  to 
prayer. 

If  ever  a  soul  was  "sick  of  love,"  it  was 
Augustine's  in  these  hours.  "Till  I  shall 
come  and  appear  before  Him,"  he  would  say, 
"  I  cannot  choose  but  weep.  My  soul  is  athirst 
for  the  fountain  of  His  love ;  and,  while  my 
fruition  is  delayed,  I  can  only  burn,  and  burn 
more  vehemently."  And  again  : — "  I  will  not 
cease  to  weep,  until  I  see  Him :  and  these  tears 
are  to  me  pleasant  nutriment."  And,  yet 
again: — "Then,  oh!  then,  we  shall  at  length 
behold  and  possess  God  fully ;  then  we  shall 
give  Him  the  whole  affection  of  our  souls, — 
we  shall  see  Him  face  to  face — shall  gaze  upon 
Him,  and  love  Him,  and  adore  Him,  without 
interruption  and  without  end." 

A  holy  man  once  wrote — 

"  Lord,  in  my  silence,  bow  do  I  despise 
What  upon  trust 
Is  styled  'honour,'  'riches,'  or  'fair  eyes,' 
But  is  'fair  dust!" 

lavit  prsesenti))us,  ne  quis  ad  cum  ingrederelur,  nisi  iis  tan- 
tum  horis,  quibus  medici  ad  inspiciendum  intrarcnt,  vel  quum 
ei  refectio  inferrotur.  Et  ita  observatum  ac  factuu)  est;  et 
omni  tempore  orationi  vacabat." 


MEMOIR  OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  301 

I  surname  them  '  gilded  clay,' 

'  Dear  earth,'  'fine  grass,'  or  '  hay,' 
In  all,  I  think  my  foot  doth  ever  tread 
Upon  their  head." 

"I  am  one  of  God's  paupers,"  said  Augustine, 
in  liis  favourite  phrase,  to  an  intimate  friend 
wlio  liad  come  in,  one  morning,   to  enquire 
respecting  any  parting  directions:    "I   have 
nothing  but  my  library,  which  I  desire  to  be 
given  to  the  Church.-     Any  spare  money  I 
possessed,  I  have  given  at  intervals  to  my  rela- 
tions, as  they  seemed  at  any  time  to  be  in  need. 
The  rest  I  have  shared  with  the  poor  saints." 
Towards  the  tenth  day,  the  pain  grew  more 
intense ;  but  his  patience  was  not  ruffled.     "  O 
how  I  long,"  he  was  heard  whispering  gently, 
his  bright  eye  fixed  steadily  upward,  "  for  that 
blessed  moment,   when   this   poor   unworthy 
creature,  the  last  and  least  of  all  my  Master's 
servants,  shall  be  called  to  put  ofT  this  load  of 
sin   and   corruption,    and,    thus   disburdened, 
remove  and  fix  my  habitation  in  the  heavenly 
city,  mingling  with  that  harmonious  host  above, 

*Possidius  writes:— "Testamentum   nullum   fecit,  quia 
unde  faceret  Pauper  Dei  non  habuit." 

26 


302  MEMOIR   OF  ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

and  doing  homage  with  them  in  the  bleesed 
presence  of  my  glorious  Lord!" 

The  siege  continued ;  and  deeply  was  he 
moved  at  the  fresh  scenes  of  blood,  "especially" 
(says  Possidius)  "  for  so  many  souls  hurried 
into  eternity  not  ready  to  meet  God." 

Then,  longing  for  a  holier  and  brighter  fel- 
lowship than  belongs  to  this  place  of  shadows, 
he  would  whisper,  half-audibly : — "When  I 
shall  with  my  whole  self  cleave  to  Thee,  I  shall 
no  longer  have  sorrow  and  labour  ;  and  my 
life  shall  wholly  live,  as  wholly  full  of  Thee. 
Because  I  am  not  full  of  Thee,  I  am  a  burden 
to  myself.  Lamentable  joys  strive  with  joyous 
sorrows ;  and  on  which  side  is  the  victory,  I 
know  not.  AVoe  is  me !  Lord,  have  pity  on  me ! " 

"  Ah  !  is  this  dying  ?  "  said  a  holy  man,  in 
his  last  moments :  "  how  have  I  dreaded  as  an 
enemy  this  smiling  friend?"  And  said  an- 
other:— "I  am  not  afraid  to  look  death  in  the 
face.  I  can  say — "  Death,  where  is  thy  sting? 
death  cannot  hurt  me."  And  a  third,  the  holy 
Owen : — "  0,  brother,  the  long-looked-for  day 
is  come  at  last,  in  which  I  shall  see  that  glory 
in  another  manner  than  I  have  ever  yet  done 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  803 

or  been  capable  of  doing."  And  a  fourth,  the 
heavenly  William  Janeway : — "  0  son,  now  it 
is  come,  it  is  come,  it  is  come.  I  bless  God  I 
can  die.  My  heart  is  full,  it  is  brimful ;  I  can 
hold  no  more ;  I  know  now  what  that  Scripture 
means,  '  The  peace  of  God  wliich  passeth  all 
understanding.'  "  As  he  spoke,  the  tears  began 
to  gather  in  his  bright  eye,  and  liis  voice  was 
choked  with  weeping.  And,  after  a  little,  he 
added: — ^' What  made  me  weep  so,  was  a  fit 
of  overpowering  love  and  joy,  so  great  that  I 
could  not  contain  myself;  neither  can  I 
express  what  glorious  discoveries  God  has 
made  of  Himself  to  me.  Bless  the  Lord,  0 
my  soul,  and,  all  that  is  within  me,  bless  His 
holy  name,  who  hath  pardoned  all  my  sins, 
and  sealed  the  pardon.  Oh,  now  I  can  die! 
It  is  nothing :  I  bless  God  I  can  die.  I  desire 
to  be  dissolved  and  to  be  with  Christ."  And 
in  a  few  more  minutes  he  was  away. 

In  the  dying  chamber  at  Hippo,  a  heavenly 
glory  not  less  triumphant  shone  on  the  last 
moments  of  Augustine.  As  night  drew  on, 
he  spoke  once  more  of  ''an  inextinguishable 
burning  of  vehement  longing"  after  the  imme- 


304  MEMOIR    OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE. 

diate  vision  of  his  Lord.  And,  •'  thus  con- 
sumed" (as  the  same  eye-witness  has  it)  "  in  the 
flames  of  love,"  he  was  wafted  upward  in  the 
fire-chariot,  to  see  Him  as  He  is."^ 

It  was  on  the  twenty-eighth  of  August, 
in  the  year  four  hundred  and  thirty,  and  in 
his  seventy-sixth  summer.f 

A  few  months  later.  Hippo  surrendered  to 
the  Yandal,  and  its  Church  was  scattered  to 
the  four  winds.  But  Augustine,  "embalmed 
in  his  writings,"  lived  on.:j:     The  mission  of 

*  Possidius  says : — "  Merabris  omnibus  sui  corporis  inco- 
lumis,  integro  adspectu  atque  auditu,  et  nobis  adstantibus  et 
videntibus ;  et  cum  eo  pariter  orantibus,  obdormivit  cum  pa- 
tribus  suis,  enutritus  in  bona  senectute,  et  sepultus  est." 

And  he  touchingly  adds : — "  Ille  Vir  cum  quo  ferme  annis 
quadraginta,  Dei  dono,  absque  amara  uUa  dissensione  famili- 
ariter  acdulciter  vixi." 

t  Possidius  says  again: — "Sane  ille  Sanctus,  in  vita  sua 
prolixa  pro  utilitato  ac  felicitate  sanetre  Ecclesiag  Catholicae 
divinitus  condonata,  vixit  annis  LXXYI.,  in  clericatu  autem 
vel  episcopatu  annis  ferme  XL." 

t  Possidius  writes: — "  Et  in  suis  quidem  scriptis  ille  Deo 
acceptus  et  earns  Sacerdos,  quantum  lucente  veritate  videre 
conceditur,  recte  ac  sane,  fidei,  spei,  et  caritatis  Catholicae 
Elcclesia)  vixisse  manifestatur :  quod  aguoscunt  qui  eum  lo- 
quentem  et  in  ecclesia  prtTscntem,  audire  et  videre  potuerunt, 
et  ejus  praesertim  inter  homines  conversationem  non  ignora- 
verunt.     Erat  enim  non  solum  eruditus  scriba  in  regno  ccelo- 


MEMOIR   OF   ST.    AUGUSTINE.  305 

the  great  Chiircli-fatlier  was,  to  teach  men  to 
lie  in  the  dust  before  God  ;  and,  though  not 
untainted  by  certain  prevaihng  superstitions 
of  the  day,  he  nobly  fulfilled  his  errand.  He 
restored  to  the  Church  the  doctrine  of  Divine 
grace. 

A  soldier  of  Napoleon's  "grand  army"  was 
wounded,  one  day,  by  a  bullet,  which  entered 
his  breast  right  over  his  hcai't.  He  was  car- 
ried to  the  rear  ;  and  the  surgeon  was  probing 
the  wound  with  his  knife,  when  at  length  the 
brave  guardsman  exclaimed,  "An  inch  deeper 
and  you  find  the  Emperor  !  "  In  the  heart  of 
Augustine,  and  in  his  massive  theology,  was 
enshrined  a  greater  than  the  Emperor.  Graven, 
in  characters  traced  by  the  very  finger  of  God, 
Avas  the  legend — which  whoso  ran  might  read — 
"  The  grace  of  Christ  only  !" 

May  the  Divine  Spirit  engrave  now  in  the 
Church's  heart  the  same  holy  legend  ! 

rum,  de  tliesauro  suo  proferens  nova  et  Vetera.,  et  unus 
negotiatorura  qui  iuventam  iDretiosani  margaritam  quae  habe- 
bat  venditis  comparavit :  vcram  etiam  ex  iis  ad  quos  scrip- 
tutu  est,  'sic  loquimini  et  sic  fecite;'  et  de  quibus  Salvator 
dicit,  '  Qui  fecerit  et  docuerit  sic  homines,  hie  magnus  voca- 
bitur  in  regno  coeloruni.'  " 


1 

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St.  Augustine  :  a  biographical  memoir. 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary-Speer  Library 


1    1012  00061   3150 


